When a Tree Dreams
by Omi-Omi
Summary: Directly after the war, Harry is left lost and full of questions about his life. Slowly over the summer, and with the help of friends, he works out what will make him happy – or even who. Gentle, slow-moving HPDM. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Saying Goodbye

**A/n: **I started this a while back, and have written a fair bit now. Due to other commitments it has taken a bit longer than it planned to get it posted, but here it is: my first attempt at writing something longer. It's a gentle, slow-building fic, but heading to more slashy times by the end. It will be 9 or so chapters long, and it will to update every Friday (I hope!). Thanks to birdsofshoreandsea and evilgiraff82 for pre-reading and betaing.

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**Chapter 1 - Saying Goodbye**

_May_

Harry sat on a fallen stone, two sides smooth, one rough and scorched. It lay amongst the other broken rocks which had once been part of the walls of Hogwarts. Although it had not been his home for the past year, it was still shocking to see it damaged by battle. The acrid scent of fire, magic, blood and death was heavy in the air. He looked up, his eyes wandering over the huddles of the shocked, sitting or walking aimlessly, in stark contrast to the purposeful Aurors dotted around. He knew that behind him, inside the castle, were the bodies of the fallen, and with them the Weasleys and his friends. Harry closed his eyes to shut out some of the painful memories, but a deluge of images rose up anyway. He had seen too much in the past twenty-four hours. He had seen too much in his life.

Harry just wanted to rest. Exhaustion dragged him down. He had ignored most of the people who had tried to talk to him, and in the end they had left him alone. He stayed near Ron and Hermione, the only constants in his world. He had given them some space to be with the rest of the Weasleys, and Fred. When a red-eyed Molly hugged him tight and insisted he join them when they left, he did, in need of the people who were the nearest he had to family. He had nowhere else to go.

oOo

"It's lovely to see you two together," said Molly, causing Hermione to blush but Ron to tighten his arm around her, proud and gentle. "It's not like it's a surprise, anyone one could see from Ronald's face–"

"Mum!" interrupted Ron.

"–Well, you do wear your heart on your sleeve, dear. Always have. Do you remember, Arthur, when he broke his first broom? It was as if his face couldn't decide whether to be mortified his broom was broken, or petrified he'd be in trouble!"

There was a terrible silence around the table, until George whispered "Fred, it was Fred."

Molly's face crumbled. The fond light in her eye darkened and flickered out. "So it was," she said, her eyes flashing up to the clock with the one hand now permanently pointing at 'dead'. She stood up and took her plate to the sink, her back turned to the table.

"He loved that broom," said Arthur. "He made me write its name on it, remember?"

"The Dashing Dazzler," Ron and Ginny spoke as one. "He told us about it," Ginny added.

They all sat quietly, remembering Fred. After a while, Molly turned back round, her eyes full of tears. Arthur went to stand with her and as he embraced her, her tears started to flow in earnest, and she buried her head in her husband's shoulder. After holding onto each other for a long moment, they walked out of the room, Arthur's arm rubbing soft circles on her back. At the table George had bowed his head, his thick hair obscuring his face. Ginny leant close to him and whispered something in his ear, then looked up at Ron for a second, her eyes sad. George and Ginny got up and went out the other door, to the garden.

Ron, Hermione and Harry were left alone in the kitchen. The mealtime was over. Ron ran a hand through his hair, and let out a long sigh. Hermione snaked her arm round his back and pulled him closer. There were no words to say. Harry got up and started clearing the table, then washed up, the Muggle way. It helped to calm, soothe him. He had done it so many times before, as a child, that he slipped into a mechanical routine, lost to his thoughts.

One of the hardest things, Harry thought, was that in a family so large, everyone had a different way of mourning. Molly Weasley spun between trying to be there for her children, cooking and gentle and full of hugs, and a frightening blankness during which she sat silently for hours, sometimes crying. Only her husband seemed able to reach her in those moments. Harry watched as the others in the house moved around each other and found their own paths through grief. Altogether though, after several weeks of living at the Burrow, Harry was beginning to find the atmosphere oppressive. It hadn't helped that they'd been to so many funerals in that time. Death was a constant theme. He felt like a burden, and seeing the family in moments like this had made him realise that however much the Weasleys had taken him in, he wasn't quite one of them. He was on the periphery of their grief, and felt he couldn't do anything to help them, any of them.

As the last of the water swirled down the drain, Harry shook himself out of his reverie. When Harry turned back round, Ron and Hermione were still sitting at the table. He had forgotten that they were there.

"Ron, I–" Harry began, but he still didn't have the words, not really. He tried again, anyway. Even though they'd been staying under the same roof, he'd hardly got to talk to his friend. "I'm so sorry for... about Fred. I... I miss him too." He remembered laughter, the thrill of being given the Marauder's Map.

Ron stood up, his face paler than normal. He stared at Harry, his eyes wide. He looked... angry. "You miss him? Harry, you hardly knew him! Stop trying to be a Weasley. You're not!" his voice was bitter, a barely contained shout. Or sob. "You don't, you _can't _understandwhat it is to lose a brother, so stop pretending that you can!"

Harry stood, white-faced with shock, trembling with a rage of his own. As he opened his mouth to name his parents, Sirius... all those he had lost, he caught Hermione's eye, and the look of sorrow and gentle admonishment she gave him was enough to keep him silent. He felt a hot rush of shame, followed by a deep discomfort. Ron was right. Fred had not been _his _brother. He turned away as she moved towards Ron, holding onto his hand and talking quietly in his ear. It was a painfully intimate moment, and it was not until her soft murmur had receded as she led Ron out of the room that Harry's breathing slowed and returned to normal. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach remained. He made himself a cup of tea and sat at the empty table, alone.

Later that night, Harry stood outside watching the stars. He looked first for the Dog Star, as he always did. Hermione joined him. They stood, side by side, in silence for a while. All their years of friendship, the months alone in the tent, had forged a bond between them which was a great comfort, especially in these moments. When she spoke, he could hear the tears in her voice.

She reached out and slipped her arm through his. "It's just such a horrible time. I spent all those months so focused on finding the Horcruxes, on keeping myself going. And now... now there's just this hole." Harry squeezed her arm, understanding exactly how she felt. "And Ron, oh Harry, Ron! He's such a mess. We've only just found each other, and he's so broken." A tear ran down her face, and she visibly reined in the ones which were threatening to follow. Eyes glistening, she continued. Harry could hear the lump in her throat. "And I've got to find my parents, and I'm terrified."

Harry said nothing, there was nothing he could say, really, so he just stood there, with her. This time, it was Hermione who squeezed him. "Today, Ron was... I'm sorry it was so bad," she said, turning her eyes on Harry. Harry felt a twinge of hurt because he knew that maybe he was the one who should be saying sorry. "I think it would be a good idea if I took Ron with me and we went to find my parents."

Harry nodded. He'd known it was weighing on her mind, and had been wondering when she'd be ready to go.

"Yes, and... not me?", he asked, but he knew the answer already.

Hermione looked relieved as she smiled weakly at him, her eyes shining dully in the starlight.

Harry suddenly knew what he had to do, what he had to say. "I've got to go too. It's not helping, me being here," his voice cracked as he stumbled on to the hardest part of his revelation. "I don't belong here," he stared off into the distance. "I've hardly spoken to Ginny, did you know that? I thought we would be comforting each other," _the way you and Ron are, _"but it's as if everything that happened between us happened in a dream. And now we've woken up. There's no place in this world," he paused, before continuing with a trace of bitterness, "the _real_ world, for the two of us. I just don't feel anything for her any more."

He looked up with a start as he heard a crash behind him. Turning, he saw Ginny, pale-faced, standing above the broken remains of two mugs of tea, steam rising from the shard-strewn puddle at her feet. Hermione broke away from him, brushing her hand on his arm and giving him one last look of understanding, before whispering "I don't think it's me you need to have this conversation with," and disappearing indoors.

Harry looked at Ginny, standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes burning. She was beautiful in that moment, the light from behind her framing her head in a fiery halo, her long frame silhouetted. She took a step forwards and gestured to the worn-out seats leant against the wall. "I think we should talk, Harry," she looked down, and added softly, "we should have had this talk a long time ago."

They sat down together, close, but not touching. Harry shivered, suddenly cold on the summer's night. Ginny made no move to comfort him. A gentle breeze blew across them, moving the wheat in the fields in a whisper of doubts.

"When I was a little girl, I remember hearing the story of Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. George and... Fred would tell me it, to frighten me on nights like this. It didn't frighten me though, it excited me. It seemed like real magic, the magic of love, the miracle of the darkest curse defeated. When you made friends with Ron, it was... it was unreal and it made me feel special. _We_ were special, my family. And then you saved me," she laughed bitterly. "I was possessed by that... mad man. And it brought me into your sights."

Ginny looked up at him. "We were good Harry, we were," and this time, she did reach out to him. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He held her hand, looked at it, looked at her. Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah, I remember," he whispered.

"When you came back to Hogwarts, the hero, you filled me with hope, with pride. I thought we could be so happy." She looked at him. "I heard what you said to Hermione. You're right. It was just a dream, it wasn't real."

Harry felt something change inside of him. He felt broken.

"This is goodbye, Harry," she started to cry. "When you told me about the Deathly Hallows, about _dying, _I..." Ginny stopped, her face crumpling, red and wet with tears. She sniffed and ran the back of her hand across her nose. After a few shaky breaths she carried on. "I can't... I'm angry. Why should _you_ die and live again? Why should _you_ get to see your lost ones, talk to them? What about us? What about Fr... Fred?" Ginny released Harry's hand, shook it off and held it in her other, tight between her knees. "I just can't, Harry, I can't. Not now. I need..."

And with cold certainty, Harry knew that a part of his life was over. He could see, all of a sudden, why there had been no comfort for them in each other. "I'm sorry," he choked out.

Ginny stood up, crying again. "So am I," she said. She gave him one last look, a wet kiss on the cheek, and went back into the warm kitchen, closing the door behind her. And with that she was gone from his life, leaving behind only the clean scent of hay and roses, of Summer, that was all hers.

"Goodbye," he whispered, to the stars and the breeze, the wheat and his dreams.

Harry went up to the room he had been sharing with Ron, now thankfully empty, and packed. He was gone within an hour.

oOo

The night was still when Harry Apparated into the quiet streets of Godric's Hollow. He didn't really have a plan, he just felt he should be there. Aimless, he wandered down the dark and narrow lanes to the ruin of his parents home. Once he was there he knew that he had meant to come here all along. This was where his story began, after all.

He sat in the tall wild weeds, littered with the bricks of his first home. It was cold now, deep in the small hours of the night. Harry wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, and for the first time in weeks really thought. He spent some time just reflecting on what he'd been through. He remembered Ginny, her laugh, her soft warmth, and his time with her a year ago. It hurt to know it was over, but too much had happened to return to that innocence. He'd been a fool not to see how they had both been changed by their year of hardship and struggle. And by the way death had touched them, both. He sighed, his heart aching for something that probably never was.

Harry looked up at the stars, twinkling oblivious above him. He thought of the happiness he'd hoped to find with Voldemort's defeat. Somehow he'd never really imagined life beyond that end point. He'd been unable to see how it would happen, how he'd kill Voldemort, and certainly nothing of the future after. He was still walking in the pain of loss. He had been to funerals, all the people there like empty ghosts. It did not seem to him to be a time of celebration.

A few days after the war had ended, Harry had sat in an impersonal room for his 'full debriefing' at the MLE, which had been long and painful. And already geared towards trials for the Death Eaters. Something of the air of vengeance left him queasy. Harry went through all his memories: the graveyard and Cedric Diggory's totally unnecessary death (although when wasn't the death of a seventeen year old unnecessary?); his time searching for the keys to killing Voldemort – the vague way in which he and his friends had decided to describe the Horcruxes; his experiences at Malfoy Manor and finally, the final battle itself. He had become more and more detached, whilst also maintaining a deep undercurrent of unhappiness. He had watched the horror on the faces of the men and women questioning him as they viewed his Pensieve memories of his glimpses through Voldemort's and Nagini's eyes. He wasn't sure how much of that horror was directed at him, for having had that link to the wizard they'd feared so much that some of them still had trouble saying his name. Privately he wondered just how they would feel if they knew he'd carried a part of that mad man's soul inside him for most of his life.

The whole experience had left him cold, numb. He felt there was no space left to escape to in his own head. No one had offered him the warmth he needed, as they were all too deep in their own loss and pain. He shivered in the cool night air, the memories chilling him despite the layers of clothes and warming charms. He felt emptied by his life so far. It had been marked by death, and the joys and comforts he'd found at Hogwarts were fleeting. He wasn't a school boy anymore, but he didn't know how he could be an adult either. Everyone seemed to think that having killed someone made him a man. Why should ending a life, no matter how evil or twisted, qualify him for adulthood? Harry would rather that the beginning of his adult life was marked by something a little more... positive. Fear and sacrifice shouldn't have been his only preparation for being a man. It wasn't what he would have chosen as the most important milestones so far. He sighed. He would have chosen his first ride on a broom, or his first sight of Diagon Alley, or his friendship with Ron and Hermione... Well, they were all part of him too. Everything was just jumbled up inside of him, as of he'd been picked up and shaken until all the parts of himself had broken and fallen into a chaotic mess. He just needed to sort them all out, put himself back together.

Harry sat until the sky began to lighten in the east. The first birds sang and colour began to unfurl above him, the stars fading. By the time the sun had risen Harry knew that somehow he had to find out where he should be, who he was. He wasn't going back to Hogwarts, or the Dursleys or the Weasleys. For the first time in his life he was free to choose.

As he idly threw brick fragments and bits of twig into a clump of nettles, Harry had to admit that the problem with this plan was that he didn't know where to start, how to do this, how to be a grown-up. He was alone.

The sun grew a little stronger, a little less feeble. Harry began to feel its warmth on his back, and he shrugged off the cloak. His stomach rumbled, and he pulled an apple out of his rucksack. Harry felt better once he'd eaten. He scrabbled in his bag and managed to find a scrap of parchment and a bitten old biro. He chewed some more on the ragged end while he considered what to write.

He closed his eyes and focused for a minute on the feelings of guilt swirling inside him. And then he started writing.

_Harry's to do list_

_Find Kreacher._

_Work out where to live_

_Visit the families of the dead_

He paused before continuing. What else did he need to do? The last two points took longer to come up with, they made him uncomfortable just thinking about seeing the people involved. But he knew he had to do it.

_Return Malfoy's wand._

_See Teddy._

Satisfied, Harry read through his list once, folded it up and wedged it into his pocket.

Stiff, he stretched and stood, shaking out the cricks in his arms and legs. He took one more look at his parents' house, and made his way back into the village. He bought himself some food - despite the small amount of fuss that inevitably arose in the shop when they realised who he was. Luckily, as he was amongst those who'd known his parents – or those who'd had to suffer the questions of wizarding tourists seeking out what had been thought to be the place Voldemort had died, the first time round – he was mostly left alone. He walked to the churchyard and went to visit his parents' grave. This time there was no rush, no one following him, but also no one to talk to, except for the dead. But then Harry had a different perspective on that, too.

He sat for a long time before he spoke, sorting through what he wanted to tell them. "Mum, Dad, it's over. I'm going to try to live my life now. The past eighteen years were thanks to you," he paused, thinking of a flash of green light. "I'm on my own time now..." he faltered, and picked at the fraying hem of his t-shirt. He cleared his throat. "I'm not sure how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to work out what to do. How to be... happy," he finished, a wistful half-smile on his face. Harry crouched in front of the gravestones for a while longer. Eventually he stood up and started to walk away. He stopped and turned round. "When I'm dead and buried," he whispered, "I don't want words about fighting on my stone." He looked down sadly. "I'm sorry that's what you've got." And then Harry walked along the quiet path, into the shelter of the church's shadow and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

In the bright light of a summer's day, it looked less forlorn than he remembered it. With a involuntary shudder he glanced over his shoulder, looking for watching eyes, but there was no one there. He entered the house, pushing open the door with uncertainty. He hoped that Kreacher would be there. Above him, stuffed house-elf heads stared blankly ahead, grotesque and unnecessary. There was still a heavy curtain hiding the portrait of Sirius's mother from view, rendering her thankfully silent. Harry didn't think he could have coped with one of her tirades this morning.

As Harry stood in the entrance way, he felt a surge of sadness. He could almost see Sirius here, Lupin, even Ron and Hermione. Eyes blinking slightly as they adjusted to the dark of the interior, after the summer brightness outside, Harry began to register changes in the house. It took a moment for his brain to catch up. The hallway was _dusted_. Harry looked around him. It was clean.

Harry walked into the drawing-room. It too, was clean. The chandelier sparkled. The house looked... cared for. A lump rose in Harry's throat. He hadn't been expecting this. Suddenly, he felt a little less alone.

"Kreacher!" he called out. There was a _crack! _and the old house elf appeared before him.

"Master Harry Potter is home!", he crowed.

"Kreacher, you did all this?", asked Harry, smiling.

"Yes Master. Kreacher has been a good house elf for his master. Kreacher has been waiting for Master Harry to come home."

Harry felt guilty for not having come sooner. But he was grateful to Kreacher for making the house a different place to the hateful mausoleum he remembered.

"I'm here now,' Harry twisted his fingers round his rucksack strap, unsure how to continue. "I... I'll just go up to... a room and... unpack," Harry was embarrassingly aware that all his belongings fitted into the small, tatty bag on his back. He shut out thoughts of his trunk, of Hedwig. He left Kreacher at the foot of the stairs, and taking them two at a time, sought out the room he'd slept in before.

He put his bag down and walked to the window. The street below was quiet. Harry turned back to the room. Despite saying he would unpack, he couldn't bear to open his bag and expose his meagre possessions to the world. Instead, he sat at the edge of the bed and got out his list. He looked through it again, and put it down, resting his hand on his knee. It had been a long night and he'd left a huge part of his life behind him. Without thinking about it, he slid off his trainers and curled up on the bed. His eyes felt heavy and his mind whirled for a moment or two, the words from his list moving on the surface, and then went blank as the thoughts drifted further and further apart. Before he knew it, he was asleep.


	2. Difficult Conversations

**A/N:** Many thanks to** birdsofshoreandsea** for pre-reading, and to** evilgiraff82** for betaing.

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**Chapter 2 - Difficult conversations**

_June_

When Harry woke up, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. His glasses had half fallen from his nose, and as he pushed them back on the bedroom at Grimmauld Place came into focus. Sunlight was streaming in, dust motes dancing in its path. His mouth was dry, and despite the sun he shivered. Sitting up he saw that he had been lying on top of the bed fully-dressed, but that despite this, or maybe because of it, he felt cold. Fuzzy-headed, he made his way downstairs, and then down again to the kitchen. Memories reared up - cold and dreary days, a Christmas with everyone trying too hard. The kitchen was dark, lurking beneath the house, the sky visible only at strange angles through glass rippled with age. Kreacher stood on a low stool in front of the dull black range, stirring a huge pot with a wooden spoon. Whatever was in the pot smelled good, and Harry was suddenly all too aware that he'd only eaten an apple since the morning.

Harry stood in the doorway for a minute, unsure how to talk to Kreacher. This was an old house elf, nothing like Dobby. Dobby had been unique, he thought to himself. Harry took in a deep breath, his throat suddenly tight. He was proud of both of them, they'd both fought for him. And Hermione had been right about the house elves. She really had. Harry stepped into the room, and Kreacher immediately jumped down from his stool. Before Harry knew it, he was sitting at the table, a plateful of food in front of him. He ate greedily, eager to banish the hunger which reminded him of being lonely, friendless. Kreacher watched him with bright, appreciative eyes for a moment before going back to a range of kitchen-related tasks, the nature of which Harry couldn't quite fathom.

Finally full, Harry pushed back his plate. In an instant, Kreacher had whisked it away, it was clean, dried, and flying back towards a cupboard. Harry sat back and ran his hand over the table. The wood was soft and smooth, shiny with the wear of long use. He'd never really noticed that before. There was so much he hadn't noticed. How much of his life had he sleepwalked through?

"Kreacher, I … thank you for the food," he said, unsure about how he should talk to him.

"Kreacher is happy to be able to make food for his Master."

"Yes, well..." Harry paused, feeling awkward, "I know I'm your master but I'm not really used to all... to all this," he gestured around the room. "I've got a few questions, actually, Kreacher."

Kreacher seemed to shrink into himself slightly. Harry remembered the last time he'd questioned him and he felt regret at how harshly fear had cause him to be. At least now he would talk to Kreacher with a little more respect. He had no excuse not to.

Harry gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He began to talk to Kreacher, about what the house elf had been doing. His awkwardness fell away as genuine curiosity drove him to ask a wide range of questions. Some were answered eagerly, others Kreacher responded to with puzzled frustration or circular answers which told Harry nothing. Harry had been more aware than many about house elves, thanks to Hermione, SPEW, and Dobby. But he still lacked the knowledge that someone who'd grown up around them might have. He discovered that Kreacher, as the Black house elf, could pay for food and supplies from the Black vault. He was heartened to see that Kreacher had changed his views on Harry, and grateful for the food and welcome at Grimmauld Place. He was still, however, uncomfortable with the idea of _owning_ another creature, of having someone servile who lived to cook, clean, meet his needs. It was all a little too close to home. After all, what else was his life at the Dursley's? He smiled wryly to himself. Aunt Petunia would have loved having a house elf. If it weren't for the whole weird-magical-creature thing, that is.

Over the next few days, Harry settled into a life, of sorts, at number twelve. He didn't want for food, and the place was clean if not cheerful. He did, however, want for company, and he often found himself wondering how Ron and Hermione were doing. Unlike his Summer imprisonments in Little Whinging, he was free to come and go as he chose. He still enjoyed an ice-cream, but there was no Fortescue's anymore, and besides he avoided Diagon Alley and the attention which followed him every where he went. Instead, he would head out into Muggle London. Harry enjoyed walking through the Heath, dripping cone in hand from the van by the Parliament Hill running track. He would climb the hill, licking away as he made his way to the trees. He would find a quiet corner and just sit, and be. He enjoyed watching people on their days out: couples and families, old men and dog walkers. He would soak up the sounds of laughter, the breeze in the trees, and – on warm days when he took his shoes off – the tickle of long grass underfoot. He could almost feel like a real person in those borrowed moments: just another man out for a walk.

At night, Harry would wrap himself up in the heavy eiderdown, its deep blue faded with age, and draw the curtains on his bed. He would try to pretend that he was back at Hogwarts, that Ron was just in the next bed, that he would wake up in the morning and wander down to breakfast with his friends at his side. The brief comfort he gained from this soon twisted into something more painful, his imaginings a poor substitute for real company. It often made things worse, and he'd either lie awake for hours, his heart racing, going over every cross word, every lost friend, the dead parading before him, or he'd find himself quietly weeping, crying himself to sleep.

When sleep came it was filled with more of the same. Recriminations hovered on the lips of friends and enemies alike. Harry didn't remember many of his dreams, but he knew that he awoke with his pillow wet with tears, his hands clenched tight and his voice raw.

Harry moved through the hours of each day, hollow-eyed but content to just be, to live without worrying about any one else's demands. He was a ghost in his own life, but at least it was quiet.

Waking up one morning, unable to ignore the sensation of guilt twisting in his gut which was threatening to become a constant nagging pain, Harry was finally driven to do something about one of the many unravelled parts of his life. He packed up Malfoy's wand in the box he'd purchased especially for it, the shiny wood nestled in a rich green velvet which he'd somehow thought fitting.

It was early in the morning, the grass still wet with dew, when Harry Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. After spending what felt like an age deciding whether to owl or Floo first, he had chosen the option which would give him the benefit of an element of surprise; he hoped that he would be less likely to be turned away if he asked in person. An Auror met him almost immediately, and Harry had to find a way to explain his visit. He cast around for a suitable way of describing his intentions. In the end, he settled for 'returning something I borrowed.' The Auror looked closely at him, his eyes flicking up to his scar, then nodded. He warned Harry against using magic. Harry got the impression he was warning him against attacking the Malfoys.

"They haven't been tried yet," the Auror growled, "I'm just here to make sure that when they are, they turn up."

A house elf appeared at the gate and let him in, while the Auror stayed where he was, his expression grim. The house elf Apparated away again – it wouldn't be much of a surprise when he turned up, after all – and Harry made the slow walk up to the Manor by himself. By the time he'd arrived at the heavy carved doors, his shoes were damp and his cheeks were rosy from the brisk walk. He took a moment to collect himself, then knocked on the door.

The same house elf opened the door. Harry was ushered into a grand sitting room, yellow silk on the wall, handsome furniture dotted around, tall clear windows opening to a vista of grass and trees. Sitting daintily at the room's centre, like some eighteenth-century tableau, were the Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, with Lucius standing behind them. He even had his hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry was sure this arrangement was for his benefit, it looked so totally unnatural. He'd been hoping to have a quiet word with Draco, away from his parents, but it was obviously not going to happen now.

There was a moment where they remained unmoving, fixed in place, all three pairs of eyes on Harry. He shifted on his feet then gave an awkward little nod of his head. "I've just come here to, um, to thank you for helping me in the forest," he said, looking directly at Narcissa. The smallest of shifts around her eyes and a slight answering nod were his only acknowledgement. He grasped the thin box he held, his hands damp, "and I, er–"

He was cut off as Narcissa made a sudden hand gesture.

"Won't you sit down, Mr Potter? Would you like some tea?," she asked, and another house elf appeared, her rags at odds with the grand surroundings, bearing a silver tray holding a bone china tea set. Harry's face heated as he sat down. He nodded mutely, and soon found himself balancing the thinnest of cups on a saucer, trying hard not let it tremble. He was glad though, to have something to hide behind. Even if it was a fragile looking tea cup. The tea looked weak, watery. When he looked up, the elf was gone again.

He cast his eye back over the family before him, hoping for a cue as to what to do next. Now he could see that Lucius' hand was not resting on Draco, but digging into the flesh at his shoulder. Draco's face was drawn, pained, and his body was tilted subtly away from his father's. Harry was reminded of an animal, trapped in a corner. He looked away, ashamed for Draco, for seeing him so cowed; for all his mean taunting over the years Draco had always been defined by his pride.

A movement caught his attention, and he was just in time to see Lucius release Draco, who fell forward slightly as his father used more force than necessary. Draco righted himself immediately, his lips settled in a tight line as he stared at the intricately woven rug beneath him. Harry looked over to Narcissa, whose face was frozen, her polite mask somehow hardened into something much uglier.

"Lucius," she said, her tone icy. "Won't you join us?" She rested her hand on the seat beside her, a subtle gesture, but at the same time, a command.

He looked down at his wife with cold disdain. When he spoke, his words were clear, each distinctly formed and forcibly pronounced.

"I prefer to stand."

Narcissa turned to Harry. "I do apologise for my husband's manners, Mr Potter. He never did make the best choices," her words were said calmly enough, but the was no mistaking the bitterness in them. Harry was lucky that he hadn't yet had any tea: he might have had difficulty swallowing it without choking.

"My choices were mine to make. I stood by _power_. I only wanted the family to have the standing it deserves. I was protecting our heritage," Lucius said, his pride obviously still intact.

Narcissa laughed, the sound brittle and sharp, like broken glass.

"You still don't see it now, do you? Not even with Harry Potter sitting before you. We lost, Lucius," she said, her voice hard, tired.

Lucius held himself proudly. "Some people were just too _weak_ to manage any power," he said, looking with contempt at his son as he spoke. Draco shifted, unhappily. Harry got the impression that it wasn't the first time he had witnessed his parents having this argument. "And besides, it may suit you now to claim your position was always on the side of light and rainbows and mud... Muggle borns," he corrected himself with a sneer, "but you sat at the table with the Dark Lord, just like the rest of us, Narcissa!" Lucius' eyes were burning now.

Harry was incredibly uncomfortable sitting there, listening to this pureblood crap after everything he'd been through. He tried to remind himself that he was here for a purpose, and that he did also owe a debt to Narcissa. But it was Lucius who made his face heat in anger, he pulse speed as he tried to contain how he felt. He didn't want to start shouting now, he had done enough fighting in his life.

Lucius took a step forward, his height in the room threatening. "And, my dear, if it wasn't for you being so soft on this sorry excuse for a son, things could have been different!" Lucius looked down at Draco, who had his head bowed. "Look at the snivelling wreck. Weak!" he barked, making Harry jump. "Weak and pathetic, not even man enough to meet my eye," he glared, but Draco did not move. "And as for you, Mr Potter, no I do not wish to sit and take tea with you!" Lucius swept his robes around him and stalked out of the room.

"Please Mr Potter, ignore him. Some of us have yet to learn some of the more important lessons from the... unfortunate incidents of the past year or so. More tea?"

Harry was shocked. He didn't know what was worse, Lucius being... well, himself, or Narcissa acting as if nothing was wrong. Draco meanwhile, looked like he was trying to twist in on himself. Harry felt a sharp twinge of sympathy.

Harry squirmed with discomfort. They sat in awkward silence, and he sipped his tea to avoid having to say anything. After a while though, it became unbearable.

"Er, Mrs Malfoy, I've also got some... some business with Draco," he faltered, looking up at Draco, hoping for some help. Draco however, was still avoiding his gaze. "Would it be possible to have a moment alone with him? If you don't mind, of course."

Narcissa looked across at her son, who was still acting as if there was no one else in the room. Or as if he was being crushed by something.

"Draco?" Narcissa asked, "Do you wish to have a private talk with Mr Potter? Would you like me to leave?" She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away.

He looked up at her, his face set in troubled, but determined, lines. "It's fine Mother, I will talk to Potter for a few minutes. You can go."

Narcissa looked a little stung at being dismissed, but stood to leave anyway. Harry felt compelled to stand too. She leant forward and took his hand for a second, saying "Thank you for coming," her words strangely bland after what Harry had just witnessed, before turning and walking to the a door at the back of the room. She paused, her hand on the knob. "Perhaps you can show Mr Potter out, when you're finished, Draco." She shifted her attention to Harry, "Mr Potter, I hope you don't think too badly of my family," she said softly, and left the room. Harry starred after her, unsure what to think.

"Oh, Potter, honestly, sit down," snapped Draco, sounding more like himself. Harry sat down and turned his attention back to Draco.

"What do you want? I assume that you've seen enough of my happy family."

Harry ignored Draco's caustic tone.

"I came to give you back this," said Harry, picking up the box beside him and handing it over. Draco carefully opened the box, and sat back when he saw his wand.

"Oh," he said. "I hoped to get this back, but I wasn't expecting... I thought it was going to end up in a museum, or something. I saw you with it. I heard that you killed... him... with it." He looked up. "I've got a new wand, you know," but his hand was stroking the wood and there was a soft smile on his face.

"It probably won't work for you, anyway," said Harry. "Since I disarmed you." He neglected to mention the Elder wand, still cautious about sharing details of how he'd defeated Voldemort, even with someone who'd been fairly instrumental in the whole thing.

Disappointment crossed Draco's face before he shut the box and shrugged. "I'll keep it anyway, it has sentimental value if nothing else," he looked up, "Thank you for returning it."

Harry nodded in response, and felt a small part of his burden lift.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say between them, as Harry had no idea what he could possibly say about Lucius and Narcissa, or the way Draco didn't seem to fit into his life either. Harry felt powerless. Draco led Harry back to the grand door at the front of the house. In a small corner near some stairs, Harry stopped Draco, having decided to say something, after all.

"Look, I'm not blind, I can see that things are... difficult for you here. We didn't go through everything just to be trapped, we're adults now and we deserve to have the freedom to live our own lives," he said with all the convictions of his own thoughts from the past few weeks since the war finished. Draco had stiffened as soon as Harry mentioned things being difficult. He grabbed Harry's hand off his arm and took a step back.

"Just leave me alone, Potter," he hissed. "It's my life and I don't need you meddling in it. For me, part of being an adult is my duty to my family. We don't all have the freedoms you do."

Harry wished, for the briefest of moments, that he did have a family to struggle against, that he wasn't so alone. But then he remembered Lucius, and shivered.

"Draco, please, listen. You don't have to live like this. You can always choose. You... you could leave," as Harry spoke, a plan began to form in his mind. Seeing Draco so crushed... he seemed almost as lost as Harry felt, in his own way.

"Leave? Leave?" Draco's voice began to rise, although he still kept it under restraint at all times. "You really have no idea," he laughed, bitterly. "Where would I go? I'd have nothing, _nothing, _without my parents," by the time he finished talking, his eyes were flashing and his breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.

Harry stepped round so he was directly facing Draco. He kept his voice as calm as he could, although there was a quiver to it anyway. "Draco – and I'm calling you that because it's your name, we're not at school and we're not boys any more – you could come to stay with me in London," Harry's eyes met Draco's. "I'm living in the Black house, number twelve Grimmauld Place. There are plenty of rooms – you would hardly see me."

Draco looked genuinely shocked. His mouth open and shut a few times before he managed to respond.

"Are you _mad_, Potter?" he asked, "Truly, you must be." He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He muttered something else about madness, then took Harry by the elbow and continued leading him out. When they got to the front door, Draco opened it and gestured out. "I trust you can make your way from here," he said, his words final, a clear dismissal.

Harry sighed. "I can. I take it you're not interested in my offer, then?"

Draco just shook his head again, pushed Harry out of the door, and shut it loudly behind him.

Harry sighed, then started on the long walk back to the main gate. He had returned the wand, as planned, but he was now disturbed by what he had seen. How could Draco live like that, suffocating under the weight of his parents' failures and blame? Harry kicked at the path, frustrated. There was nothing he could do now, so he just kept walking away. It still felt like he was abandoning Draco to his fate. _Again_. Just like he had when he'd seen Draco through Voldemort's eyes last year. Or maybe even before that. Harry walked faster, the rhythm of his feet helping to stamp down some of his guilt and helplessness. By the time he reached the gate, he was calm enough to Apparate home. His nose was also a little sunburnt, but he welcomed the sting, it felt like the least he deserved. He didn't see the Auror, but sensed that he was still nearby. Harry was glad not to have to talk to him again.

oOo

A restlessness took hold of Harry when he returned to Grimmauld Place. He was on edge, remembering Draco locked in his family's bitterness. But there was nothing more he could do, so Harry tried to focus on regaining a bit of the calm he had been carving out for himself.

Harry was relieved, at first, when he received an owl bearing a letter a few days later. When he opened it, however, he was disappointed to see that it was not the hoped-for letter from friends, but an official-sounding summons from Kingsley Shacklebolt. With nothing else planned for the day, Harry sent a brief reply saying that he could come and see Kingsley today, if he wished. While he waited for his own reply, he went to change his tatty t-shirt for a rather smarter one, and his faded old jeans for a pair of trousers. He only had a limited wardrobe - jeans, his trousers, a collection of t-shirts in various states of being worn-through, and a few zip-up tops and Weasley sweaters. He didn't have any wizarding gowns any more – they'd all been left behind when he went on the Horcrux search. This was the smartest he could get, not something he normally worried about, but picking up the parchment again, it was phrased so formally he felt he had to make an effort.

As soon as a reply came, letting Harry know that Kingsley was free all day, he set off for the Ministry. He preferred walking to using the Floo, although he did cast a light Disillusionment Charm, not feeling like being stared at or bothered by the curious, or worse, by 'fans'. It was why he usually avoided any area frequented by witches or wizards.

Wearing a badge stating 'Harry Potter to see Minister of Magic', Harry made his way to Kingsley's office, only asking for directions once or twice. It was strange to be back here with no real mission, but Harry appreciated the quieter pace. Sitting outside the office, he was aware of Kingsley's assistant watching him, even as she sorted through a pile of parchments. He sat back in a surprisingly comfortable chair and sipped the water she had given him when he arrived. He turned the glass round and round in his hands, trying to work out what Kingsley wanted.

It wasn't long before the door to Kingsley's office opened and he stepped out, a cautious smile on his face, "Harry, so good to see you. And thank you for coming in so quickly."

Harry walked into his office and waited to hear what Kingsley had to say, nervous in his uncertainty about why he was there.

"The thing is, Harry, we're going to be holding trials for Voldemort's supporters soon. You'll have to testify in several of the cases," Kinglsey paused before continuing in a much softer voice. "We're all so grateful for what you did, and now is the time to finish things off." His tone hated ended again as he continued, "We need your testimony to make sure the Death Eaters end up where they belong," and his face was grim.

Two thoughts immediately sprang to Harry's mind: one was the memory of Lucius holding Draco in a vice-like grip at Malfoy Manor a few days before; the other was a feeling of horror at the thought of Dementors at Azkaban. He asked about the Dementors first.

"The... the Dementors...?" he shuddered.

Kingsley fixed him with a knowing stare, then shook his head. "They're long gone, Harry, no one's getting the Kiss. And it might not make me popular with some, but I'm glad of it. Some things you don't wish on your worst enemies."

Harry let out some of his tension with an exhale of breath. He looked up at Kingsley.

"I think you should know, I er, I've been to Malfoy Manor recently."

Kingsley fixed him with a stern glance. "I know." Harry remembered the unsmiling Auror at the gate. Of course he knew. This explained why he was here, having this conversation. What might have happened if he hadn't mentioned it?

"Why on earth visit the Malfoys? Anyone else would probably have been turned away, you know."

Harry fiddled with the end of his sleeve. "It's complicated," he said, then paused. He stilled his hands and continued. "I did cover this in the debriefing, but I've been thinking about things and it just seems... more important now. Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. She helped save everybody, in a way," he then took a deep breath and told Kingsley about the forest, about Narcissa's lie to Voldemort at the crucial moment. Kingsley's face was grave as he sat, fingers steepled, nodding every now and again.

"I see, so you owe her a life debt."

Harry looked up sharply. He hadn't heard it described like that, but it made sense. "Yes, yes exactly that, a life debt."

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, I owe Draco something too. We were captured, and taken to Malfoy Manor, did you know?"

Kingsley nodded and Harry felt foolish. Of course he knew, they'd debriefed him, and everyone else who was held there. Who survived the experience, of course. Harry shuddered.

"Well, then you know that Draco was asked to identify me, and he lied too."

Kingsley sat back, frowning.

Harry found himself continuing. He explained in more detail than he had before about how it was Malfoy's wand he used to defeat Voldemort, and that he had gone to Malfoy Manor to return it. He also found himself telling Kingsley, haltingly, about Dumbledore's death, and how Draco had lowered his wand.

When he finished talking, there was a long silence in the room.

"You haven't mentioned Lucius Malfoy," said Kingsley, his deep voice rumbling the name.

Harry twisted in his chair. "The best I can say about him is that he left the battle at Hogwarts," Harry shrugged, "In the end, I think his family were more important than Voldemort. He'd certainly fallen out of favour." His voice hardened as he continued, "But I think he's just a proud and cruel man."

Kingsley nodded slowly.

"Will it... change anything that I've visited them? It wasn't very pleasant, but I wanted to thank Narcissa. And I gave Draco back his wand too."

Kingsley looked a little startled at that last piece of information, but said nothing.

"So I hope it doesn't make things too... complicated for you that I've spoken to them. It wasn't exactly friendly, but no one threw any hexes."

Kinglsey looked troubled. "I think your testimony is more likely to make waves than whether or not you've spoken to them. Can I ask though, how did you leave things with them? Will they be able to claim you harassed them, for example?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I came, said thank you to Narcissa, listened to Lucius spout his usual crap, drank tea, then... then had a word with Draco and returned his wand," Harry sighed, for some reason not wanting to recount all the details their conversation. "He seemed very unhappy to me. If he... if he wanted to talk to me again, I would," Harry hadn't realised this until he said it, but as soon as he did the truth of the statement became clear.

"Talk... as friends?" asked Kingsley.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I probably won't speak to him again though. But you never know..." he trailed off, remembering the offer of help he'd extended to Draco. Quietly, he told Kingsley about the exchange he'd seen. And about his offer.

Kingsley sat, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin with his hand. It was so quiet in the room that Harry could hear the fine rasp of stubble.

"Well, Harry, you've certainly given me a lot to think about," he looked at Harry, his gaze direct and uncompromising. As he spoke, Harry got the impression that his words had been very carefully chosen.

"Now, the Malfoys, well I think that as long as you have no further contact with Lucius, it will be fine. Just for your own safety, Harry. As for Draco... if you have offered him your protection–", Harry made to interrupt Kingsley. It wasn't exactly his _protection_ he had offered. More... somewhere to run to, but Kingsley was shaking his head, "–Yes, Harry, your protection. What else is a room in a safe house? Let alone the association with your name? But maybe he will need it." Kingsley broke off and shook his head. "His own father," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "I can't prevent you from seeing them or talking to him. Indeed, perhaps what we need is a world where you _can_ talk to him " Kingsley sighed. "No more hatred. We've had enough to last us a few lifetimes. Just promise me you'll let me know if you see him again. I might be interested in talking to him – away from his father."

Harry found himself mulling over Kingsley's words. They talked, a little more lightly, for the next few minutes, then Harry left with the promise to contact Kingsley by owl, 'day or night,' if he heard from Draco.

Harry felt exhausted when he got back to Grimmauld Place. As he sat in the subterranean gloom of the kitchen to eat some soup – for once feeling no compunction about Kreacher cooking – his mind was whirling with competing thoughts and questions. Had he offered Draco protection? What was going to happen to the Death Eaters? How many trials would he have to speak at? He scowled into the shadows of the room, and pushed away what was left of his lunch. He had lost his appetite.

Harry left the murky kitchen, and went to sit in his overgrown garden, waiting until the sunshine of the day had warmed his skin. He pictured his worries floating away with the clouds, and listened to the noises of the city: cars and buses rumbling in the distance, the breeze in the trees and the odd brave bird marking its territory with song. It made him feel smaller, and for a short while, calmer too. His questions and doubts would still be waiting for him inside, but for now, this was enough.


	3. Connections, New and Old

**A/N: **Many thanks to **birdsofshoreandsea** and **EvilGiraffe82 **for pre-reading and betaing.

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**Chapter 3 - Connections, new and old**

_Mid-June_

Harry had settled back into a simple routine. It revolved around silent meal times in the oppressive kitchen, Kreacher nearby but not much company, reading in the study, and escaping to outdoor spaces: the wild messy garden or going on long walks through anonymous Muggle London. It was such a relief to be able to have time away from being Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world. He sometimes went to bed early, just out of boredom. It was enough to get him from morning to night. It almost filled his day, but he knew deep down that his life was empty. He found it easier though – there was less to rub against his raw edges this way. At least it was better than his interminable summers with the Dursleys.

Today, Harry had been for a long walk over Hampstead Heath, past the ponds and up to the grand elegance of Kenwood. Along the way he saw other lone souls on their own journeys, wiry women walking large dogs, joggers lost in their rhythm, the harried rushing to somewhere else. His legs now throbbed with the ache that only hours of walking can bring. His outing had filled him with a strange hope, which had built even as the warm balmy day transformed; the air became charged with an elemental electricity, the skies darkening on his way home. He had felt the rain moving in, and had relished the feel of the wind whipping at his face, even as the people he passed on the streets drew their bodies in and picked up their pace, their shoulders simultaneously dipped in defeat. Despite the grime-streaked buildings and dirty light through grey cloud, Harry was reminded most of being on his broom, high and clear and free. The wildness of the weather made him think of the rush of chasing the snitch.

He pictured flying high above Hogwarts. He saw it as the unchanging place it had been for so many years. But then in his mind's eye walls began to fall and smoke rise, until it became the place he'd last seen in May. Harry blinked away the images, but new ones appeared unbidden: Hermione, her hair full and frizzy, her eyes soft but her face sad; Ron, his features, once so open, now closed off with grief. They both looked so wan and drawn – so much older than their years. Harry sighed. It was how they'd looked the last time he saw them, and the thought of this heavy price they'd all paid over the past year – the deaths, the loss of their youth and innocence – was enough for that momentary illusion of freedom to dissipate. He realised that he missed his friends. However things had been when they had last seen each other, he still wanted them in his life. He decided to write to them.

Faced with blank parchment however, Harry couldn't think what to write. He didn't want to relive, again, his strange meeting with the Malfoys, nor did he want to describe his meeting with Kingsley. Besides, his friends knew better than anyone else just what he'd seen and done in the past year. An owl wasn't the place to talk about it. Beyond the Malfoys and Kingsley, there wasn't much more he could write about. But he had to try. So slowly, laboriously, he wrote about Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher's transformation. He still didn't know what exactly he was going to do with his life, let alone whether he'd stay here, or what he'd do with Kreacher if he left. He told them that, feeling a little foolish but proud of being honest. He ended by sending his best wishes for luck in their search.

He set the parchment aside, deciding that he'd have to ask Kreacher about long-distance owls. He had no idea how it worked. Feeling a little better, and already looking forward to getting a reply (even though he hadn't sent his owl yet), Harry relaxed and made his way down to the kitchen, to ask Kreacher and get a cup of tea. He knew he could just call for Kreacher, but he felt awkward doing so. He also preferred making his own tea, even though he could see the house elf out of the corner of his eye the whole time, twisting his tea towel round and round in his knobbly hands as Harry quietly moved arout the kitchen. Harry was torn between guilt for trespassing on Kreacher's duties, and discomfort with anyone waiting on him. Hermione was so fresh in his mind though, he couldn't ask for more of Kreacher than he did.

It was an hour later and pitch-dark when his long and rambling thoughts on war, friendship and loss were interrupted by a heavy knocking. Harry put down the long-empty cup of tea he'd been cradling, and cocked his head as he heard Kreacher answer the door. Harry never had visitors, and certainly not at – he checked the wall clock – half past ten at night. Curious, he made his way upstairs. He froze mid-tread when he heard, in response to a query from Kreacher, the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy from above. "Just– Don't– I–", Draco seemed beleaguered by false starts and hesitations. Harry took the rest of the stairs two at a time, having to see for himself that Draco really was there.

When he got to the top he found Draco Malfoy standing in the drawing room, soaking wet and shivering. He didn't have shoes on. His face was pale and drawn, and there were puddles gathering at his wet, bare feet. His hair was plastered to his head, and water was dripping from the end of his nose. Harry was rendered speechless by the sight. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been this. They stood there, awkwardly.

"You came," he said finally, his words redundant but necessary all the same.

"Yes, Potter–"

"Harry," Harry corrected.

"–_Harry_, I came. Here I am," Draco twisted his mouth up bitterly. "My life is so bloody awful, I– I ran away, and the only place I could think to come was here." Harry got the impression that the awful bit wasn't the running away, but the being with him bit. Nevertheless, he was glad Draco had got out. And that he was here, with Harry.

"Well, you're welcome to stay. However long you need. When I made that offer, I meant it."

Draco shuffled, dripping water onto the threadbare rug. Then he sneezed. His clothes were sodden, clinging to him in odd lines. He only had a pair of dark trousers and a shirt on, and his thin, long body was clearly outlined in more than silhouette. Not much was left to the imagination, and it was incongruous seeing him all buttoned up and virtually naked at the same time. He'd wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to warm himself, or perhaps to shield his body from Harry's scrutiny. Harry flushed, suddenly embarrassed that he hadn't offered any immediate help, beyond shelter. He got his wand out and gave Draco a crooked smile. "Shall I?"

Draco nodded and held his breath as Harry cast a drying charm, and a warming charm for good measure. Draco emerged from a cloud of steam, drier but not looking much happier. Harry wondered what else he might need.

"Thank you... Harry. Although that's probably ruined my clothes," he grimaced. "Better than being wet though," he added, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

Ignoring the complaint, Harry gestured to the deep, worn armchairs. "Please, sit down," Harry asked. Draco immediately collapsed into the nearest of the chairs, and again Harry felt guilty for not having offered sooner.

"Kreacher!" he called. Kreacher appeared with a crack. "Some brandy for us both, please. And a hot bath, and a bed ready for Draco, I think." Kreacher Disapparated and reappeared a moment later with a small tray bearing two brandy snifters and a rather grand looking dust-covered bottle. He solemnly poured out a generous measure each, and Draco took his eagerly. The house elf then went off, muttering to himself about Master Malfoy, in what Harry liked to think of as his most house-elfish tones: a mix of content and very, very busy.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I never thought I'd see you ordering a house elf around, Pott– Harry," he corrected himself. "Whatever would Granger say?"

Harry shrugged. "She's not here now. And whether I like it or not, I'm responsible for Kreacher."

Harry didn't know what to say next, and Draco didn't say anything either, so they sat without talking. Harry rolled his drink around the glass, watching the way it clung in trails. He took a sip, and it was sweet and harsh all at once, and he felt warmth grown inside him. He leant back in his armchair and closed his eyes. It had been a tiring day and his body had just remembered it. He opened his eyes to find Draco looking at him, a guarded expression on his face. Draco took a tentative sip of his own drink, and his shoulders relaxed, slightly. His face still bore a silent frown though.

The room was quiet, the sounds of rain from outside a drone, seemingly muffled by the dark of night. There was the distant sound of pipes clanging, but not much else. The only light in the room came from a huge lamp made from an old Chinese vase, covered in blue clouds and dragons, set on a polished side table in an alcove. Its silk shade was all aglow, a brighter flare thrown upwards from its top. Both men though, were sat in semi-darkness, the golden light not quite reaching far enough to warm them. It felt calm, and so did Harry. Looking over at Draco, who was lost in his own thoughts, Harry thought of something to say, or rather, ask.

"Draco," he started, tentatively, and Draco looked up. His face was strained, but strangely blank too. His eyes though, brimmed with sadness, and even though he was looking at Harry, they seemed focused on something else, far away. The way Draco's eyes looked terrified Harry, not for the unhappiness they showed, but because he recognised the look. He saw it, every day in the mirror. Harry breathed in, an ache of anxiety sinking deep into his gut. Seeing Draco like this _hurt_. He took his shaky thoughts and focused, hard, on talking to him.

"Can I ask... why did you come?" Harry knew he was asking too personal a question, but he wanted to know. At the same time, he _knew_, but somehow he wanted to hear Draco telling him, in his own words. "You don't have to tell me, I just– you were so certain the last time we spoke."

Draco dropped his head down. He spoke in a quiet, passionless monotone that made Harry squirm.

"It's not what you think. My father... he didn't hurt me. I... I couldn't breathe any more. There was this insane man in our house and it was hell, and now there's just Mother and Father, and I don't exist, except as someone to blame or smother," he looked up, a haunted look on his face. "After you came, I couldn't stop thinking that maybe I could... just be me. Somehow," he paused, then continued in he same tone of voice, all matter-of-fact. "I had spent the day with them, _sniping_ at each other, and as I was getting ready to go to bed I decided I didn't want to do it anymore. So I walked out, I stood in the garden and looked at the Manor, and I realised that I _hate_ it. I Apparated to Grimmauld Place and walked up and down until I found your house."

Harry didn't want to ask any more of Draco. This already felt too much, too personal. He shouldn't have asked. A cold, sick feeling washed over him and settled in his stomach.

"Do we really have to do this now?" Some emotion bled into Draco's voice. It was anger, mingled with exhaustion. Harry shook his head, ashamed of pushing Draco. They sat in a tense silence, like coiled springs, until Kreacher appeared, announcing that Master Draco's bath was ready, as was his bedroom. Draco stood up and gave Harry an odd little semi-formal bow, and went upstairs with heavy steps.

Harry finished his drink, lost in thought. It had unnerved him, hearing Draco confess not events, but something else, something from his inner landscape. Its familiarity unsettled Harry the most. But then war did leave scars: everyone Harry knew bore scars of one kind or another, on the outside and the inside as well. Sighing, Harry wrote a short note to Kingsley explaining that Draco was with him, by his invitation, and that he could answer questions in the morning. He called for Kreacher and asked him to find an owl to send it to the Minister of Magic, immediately. He hoped this was enough.

In a dark mood, Harry turned off the light and followed Draco's path up the stairs. He paused outside the bathroom door. The place felt changed. There was a naked Draco Malfoy on the other side of the door. Harry turned and went to his room. He had seen a naked enough Draco tonight. Now all he sought was the oblivion of sleep. He slipped into bed and shut his eyes, but didn't go to sleep until after he'd heard the click of doors as Draco went to bed himself. His dreams were the deep kind, the ones which are a struggle to escape. They pulled him down into murkiness, and were filled with the dead.

In the morning, it took a few shakes to clear Harry's head of the dragging weight left by the blur of his dreams. He was tired, and the day was only beginning. When he walked out into the landing though, the light shone in, the skies clear after the heavy rain of the night before. It was only when he came out of the bathroom and walked straight into Draco, who was wearing a pair of Harry's pyjamas, his arms and legs sticking out from too-high cuffs, that the reality of the night before sank home. He just stared with surprise at the appearance of his former classmate, until Draco frowned and backed away.

"Please don't tell me you're like this every morning," he blustered. "If you don't mind..."

Harry stepped out of the way, but stood outside the bathroom until Draco reemerged a few minutes later.

"Sorry, I had... forgotten you were staying here," said Harry. A sudden look of panic crossed Draco's face. Harry hastily added, "You are still very welcome here. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for some breakfast."

Draco looked down at the two of them in their pyjamas, and shrugged. He followed Harry downstairs, all the way to the kitchen. The rich smell of coffee filled the room, and they both eagerly took a cup from Kreacher. Harry automatically passed Draco the sugar just as Draco passed him the milk. They looked at each other, surprised. Harry's eyes widened, and Draco's lips parted in a small inhalation of breath, which he hastily disguised by clearing his throat.

"I guess we've spent years having breakfast in the same room," offered Draco, and Harry was glad he had come up with an explanation which did not feature obsession, stalking or watching more than he should. He had eaten breakfast and drunk coffee with plenty of other people at Hogwarts, yet Draco was the only non-Gryffindor whose eating and drinking habits Harry was familiar with.

Soon Kreacher had brought them heaving plates of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms. Harry and Draco ate in silence. When they had finished, both pleasantly full and more relaxed, they sat back. There was no choice really, but to try to talk. Harry didn't want to discuss their uncomfortable conversation from yesterday, and Draco didn't mention it either.

"What are you going to do for clothes? I could lend you some things, but we're not exactly the same size and I er... I don't actually have that much."

Draco's look of disdain made Harry feel like retracting the offer. Then something in Draco's face broke, and he looked the way he had last night. It was hastily hidden, but Harry had seen it.

"I've been living... on the edge of my life for a while now," he smiled sourly, "not to burst your bubble, but long before you turned up with your brave little Gryffindor speech—", Harry felt a little affronted at this dismissal of his heart-felt reaching out to Draco, "—I've had a few things packed away, in case of flight. I've had them for two years now," Draco paused, his hardened exterior slipping for a second as he continued a bit more shakily. "I hoped I'd never have to use it though. And now I've used it twice."

Harry frowned. Where was this bag? Draco hadn't been carrying anything last night.

Draco snorted. "Honestly, your face is so transparent. Come upstairs and I'll show you."

When Harry walked into the room next to his, he wasn't sure what to expect. He was disappointed to find that it looked like it normally did. The bed was made, the curtains drawn back, a window cracked open for air. The only sign that Draco was staying was the neat pile of laundered clothes on the end of the bed – Kreacher had been busy.

Draco walked to the bedside table, then picked up a small package Harry hadn't noticed before and placed it on the bed. Harry held his breath as Draco grasped the bottom of his pyjama top and pulled up, revealing a smooth white stomach, his belly button dipping down amongst the midst of the beginning of a trail of golden hairs, which reached below the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Harry was mesmerised by the sight. Something about it made him want to reach out and touch the skin, just to see how it felt. Draco revealed more of this trail along with a sharply angled hip bone, as he pulled back the waistband for a second to retrieve his wand, which had been tucked in there.

Harry stared, and wondered just what life was like for Draco if he felt he had to bring his wand when he went to the bathroom first thing in the morning – Harry's was still on his bedside table. He noticed that the wand wasn't the one Harry had returned, and for a moment he felt disappointed. He then realised that he had been ogling Draco's midriff, and looked away, embarrassed. He had been without close human contact for weeks now, but this over-reaction was ridiculous. And besides, it was _Draco_.

Luckily, Draco didn't seem to have noticed. He pointed his wand at the bed, muttered a few words, and it grew into a large bag before their eyes.

"You always seem so surprised by magic, Harry," said Draco with amusement. He looked critically at the bag, some water marks clear on its side. He tutted. "I hope my water-proofing charms worked," a line of anxiety running down his brow. He then dug around in the bag and came out with a wand box, the polished wood catching the light, and held it up for examination. He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and set it carefully to one side, then pulled out a wash bag.

He held it up. "And now I've solved your mystery, do you think I could go and have a wash?"

Harry wondered why Draco had worn the pyjamas Kreacher had given him the night before. He stared at Draco, trying to picture him too embarrassed to refuse them. Or maybe he had just been so tired last night he'd put them on so that he could go straight to bed. Draco made a pointed little cough, and Harry realised that he hadn't moved yet. Flushing, he turned to leave the room, but then paused and looked back. Draco was still pulling things out of his bag, holding them up to the light and shaking them out. It was one of the most bizarre things he had ever seen, Draco unpacking – it was such a personal, domestic scene – yet somehow it felt right him being here. Maybe it was simply relief that there was another human in the house now; just Harry's loneliness influencing how he felt.

Harry stood in his room and looked out of the window onto the street below as he waited for Draco to finish in the bathroom. The road was clear and quiet, washed clean by the rain. The air was bright, the summer smog at the edges visibly lessened, and Harry decided that despite the uneasy truce with Draco, it was going to be a good day. He brushed his teeth and shaved, then got dressed in his worn, old, familiar clothes. He'd just got into the study to look for a book when the Floo flared, and Kingsley's face appeared in the fireplace. Harry's mood soured. He'd forgotten all about Kingsley. Perhaps it wasn't going to be such a great day after all.

"Harry, is Draco there with you now?" asked Kingsley, getting straight to the point. Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous for some reason.

"Yes," he nodded, tilting his head to indicate that Draco was upstairs. "He doesn't know that I've told you—", Harry was interrupted by Kingsley stepping through the Floo. He knew why he was nervous now. He hadn't told Draco about his conversation with Kingsley. He wasn't sure how Draco would react. He would have preferred to have the chance to prepare him first.

"I need to speak to him, Harry," Kingsley said, his presence large in the room, his voice urgent. He paused, all his considerable energy aimed at Harry. "This is important. I know we talked about Draco staying here before, but–"

"Sorry, you talked about me staying here?" Draco's voice interrupted, icy cold. He was standing in the doorway, dressed in dark trousers and a fitted grey t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled, looking towel-dried. He had socks on but no shoes, and he looked incongruously at home, despite his obvious annoyance at this awkward meeting. "Were you going to mention that you'd been... _discussing _me with the Minister of Magic, Harry?"

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, Draco if I may. Just the man I wanted to talk to," Kingsley began, stepping forward with his hand out, but Draco ignored him, still entirely focused on Harry.

"Well, were you?" he asked again sharply. Kingsley stopped, and dropped his hand silently, looking between the two young men.

"I... I was, Draco. You haven't been here that long, and I wasn't expecting Kingsley to just turn up like this when I owled him last night."

"When you owled him last night?" Draco asked, his voice flat. Harry squirmed, a hot rush of guilt rising at not having told Draco about this already.

"Oh yes... I promised I would, if you turned up."

Draco took a deep breath, and Harry could almost see him counting to ten. He winced.

"So let me get this straight. You've been discussing me with the minister. Owling him. Did you... did you tell him about... my father?" Draco's voice had dropped to a whisper by the time he got to his last word.

Harry froze, remembering the moment last night when Draco had spoken about him. "No, yes... um, a little, but not–"

"I can't believe I actually thought... maybe he's right, after all," interrupted Draco. "You're just like them all. I don't know why I thought I might be able to trust you," Draco's eyes were flashing with anger now, and Harry could see the sting of betrayal lurking behind too. "Well, I've learnt my lesson," he added, bitterly.

"Draco," pleaded Harry, "it's not like that."

Kingsley cleared his throat, loudly. Both Harry and Draco jumped, having forgotten that he was there.

"I'm sorry to have arrived unannounced, but I really do need to talk to you, Draco," he stepped forward again, but this time instead of trying to shake hands, he gestured to the pair of hard leather armchairs by the fireplace, "perhaps we should sit to talk." Draco nodded and moved, but his face was stony as he took a seat, and his body was tight with tension.

Kingsley took a seat opposite him. He looked up at Harry. "I think I need some time alone with Draco, if you don't mind. I'll call you if I need you." He gave what Harry assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it did little to calm his nerves. He looked at Draco to check this was ok, who was white and shocked looking, but met his eye for a fraction of a second and nodded slightly. Harry left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

He went down to the kitchen, unsure what to do with his time, how to keep himself occupied. Kreacher was in the kitchen, looking almost as uncertain as Harry felt. He was standing on his stool, a selection of bowls and an old cast-iron balance and weights in front of him, along with a large bag of flour.

"Master Harry, is there... trouble?" whispered Kreacher, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Master Malfoy first, now the Minister..." his voice quavered and broke off. Harry was about to reassure Kreacher, but the truth was he had no idea what they were talking about upstairs. "I don't know, Kreacher. I... I trust Kingsley, so I hope everything is ok, but I just don't know." He didn't comment on whether or not he trusted Draco. He didn't know, he just knew that Draco was just as lost as he was.

Kreacher looked distressed. He shakily continued weighing out the flour. Harry watched him as he started to bring a dough together. Wanting to be doing something, he had a sudden desire to be doing the same. "Kreacher, what are you making?"

"Kreacher is making bread, Master Harry," he answered, all the while moving.

"Do you think... may I help?" asked Harry. Kreacher shrank back at the question. Harry hastily rephrased, "I mean, I'd like to learn to make bread. Please could you teach me how? I just need something to do..." Kreacher didn't look happy about it, but nodded once. So Harry spent the next half hour mixing, then kneading the dough until it was smooth and elastic, warm beneath his hands. Each push along the table helped calm him. He used his whole body as he moved, and the action of kneading was rhythmic and soothing, He and Kreacher spoke only about what they were doing, at infrequent intervals. When the dough was left to rise and while Kreacher efficiently tidied up, Harry looked up in surprise to find Kingsley standing in he doorway. The expression on his face was unreadable. All Harry's worries came rushing back at the sight of him.

"I've spoken to Draco," Kingsley started, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet of the room. Perhaps seeing the anxiety on Harry's face he softened a little as he continued. "He's not in trouble, Harry, not right now. He does have to face the Wizengamot for his crimes – letting Death Eaters and Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts, for one. Whatever his reasons, that is serious in and of itself and I do not know what consequences he will have to face." Harry found himself holding his breath, conflicting emotions running through him at the memory of Lavender's scarred face, and Draco crying in an empty bathroom. He nodded, mutely. "But I think you should know, Draco has agreed to testify against the other Death Eaters at the upcoming trials. Now he is safe from his father... I had hoped he would, hence the urgency of my visit today. This may help him find some clemency, it may not. We shall see," here Kingsley paused and fixed Harry with a particularly incisive stare. "I think the safest place for Draco is still here. I can see that you two have much to discuss, but I cannot have you talking about any of this. As such I'm setting a Taboo on it. I _will _know if you break it." Harry remembered the Death Eaters appearing in Tottenham Court Road, and nodded again. Suddenly he felt trapped, but he knew it made sense.

When Harry accompanied Kingsley back upstairs to the Floo, he found Draco gone from the study. He didn't see him again until lunch, when they sat down to fresh bread and soup together. Silence hung heavy over them. In the end it was Draco who broke it. "I.. I understand why you had to tell the Minister," he said quietly. Harry looked up in surprise. "It would have been nice to have known you had though," he added.

"I–" began Harry.

"I don't want to talk about it," snapped Draco, despite having started the conversation. The silence returned, but Harry felt his anger build at being cut off and ordered to shut up, in effect.

"Listen, Draco, I _had_ to let him know you were here, and I was going to tell you. I wasn't expecting him to just _turn up_ like that," Harry felt he had to explain, somehow.

"I said I understood why you spoke to him. And that I didn't want to talk about it," said Draco, putting down his spoon and standing up. "I'm not hungry anymore," he added, and left the room. Harry was left feeling stung and frustrated.

After that they only saw each other at meal times, or outside the bathroom. They did not discuss Kingsley or the war, but kept to safe comments such as "I see it's raining today," or "pass the butter". Harry sometimes wondered how things would have been without Kingsley's interruption, remembering smiles and unpacking, but he knew that the war and the trials would have been difficult to avoid, whatever had happened.

After a week or so of stilted mealtimes and solitary walks, a large owl appeared as Harry and Draco were having breakfast. It carried his reply from Hermione, and Harry greedily opened it, eager for news from his friends.

_Sydney, Australia _

_June_

_Dear Harry,_

_It was so good to hear from you. And sorry for not having written myself sooner. It's just been so difficult here. The good news is that it took us ten days, but we've found my parents. I knew which city they'd always wanted to live in, but it's a big place. It was painful to see them. I stopped them to ask for directions, and they didn't recognise me. They seemed happy and relaxed, and I don't know how I'm going to get them back. I always knew this would be difficult, but I don't think I really knew just how _painful_ it was going to be. Ron has been great. _

_I don't know how long we're going to have to stay here. We've found a little wizarding hotel outside Sydney in Manly, by the sea, and it's beautiful. Sometimes I just sit and look at the waves and try to clear my mind, but I can never get away from the enormity of what I've done. There is a wizarding hospital here and one of the Healers is helping us. I don't know if we'll be able to reverse all the memory charm. Some part of me thinks I should just leave my parents as they are, happy and oblivious. But I've lost enough people, we all have. I want them back. _

_Ron and I follow my parents sometimes. It is heart-breaking watching them go about a life which doesn't include me, but I'm going to fix it Harry, I am._

_I'm glad that Kreacher is happier now. You know I've always maintained he just needed to be treated with kindness. I hope you work out what you want to do, Harry, including with Kreacher. You know my views already, I know you'll do the best thing. Just remember: kindness._

_I hope you are well. We will be port keying in for the trials, but will probably have to come straight back here afterwards. But we will be seeing you in July, so until then, take care._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione_

_PS Ron says hello. _

Harry folded Hermione's letter back up and sat back. It was good to hear from her, but hard to know just she was going through so much. He missed them, missed their easy companionship. His heart tightened thinking about Hermione, so close to her parents but unknown to her. He looked up to find Draco watching him, something – loss? Envy? – etched on his face. He turned away, not wanting to share his sadness or his friends. He held on to the thought that soon he would see them. "It's from Hermione," he said eventually, answering Draco's unspoken question. "She's in Australia with Ron. Tracking down her parents."

"I had wondered where your friends were," said Draco. "Australia?"

"Last year she... she removed all their memories of her, to keep them safe. They um, they moved to Australia." There was a long silence as Draco took this in. Finally he met Harry's eyes. "That's... that's just awful," he said. Harry nodded.

"She found them. But..." he shook his head, then shrugged to indicate the uncertainty of the situation.

They both looked down. Harry didn't feel like saying much more: it already felt like enough of a betrayal of Hermione's confidence to have told Draco this much. Thankfully, Draco didn't push it any further. Harry spent the rest of the day thinking about Ron and Hermione and wondering how it would be when they saw each other again, during the trials. He tried not to think of the trials themselves, nor of what would happen to his house guest.


	4. Stories to Tell

**A/n**: Thanks to **birdsofshoreandsea** and **Penguindreams** for pre-reading, and to **evilgiraffe82** for betaing. The trials are probably not how anything would happen in any kind of legal setting, but this is the world of magic and this is how it turned out in my story. Basically, I just made it all up. :D

Also, I went with one version of Draco's middle name: as far as I can see, there is no definitive answer as to what it might be.

I found it took a while to get this chapter right, but now I'm pretty pleased with it. Enjoy. :)

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Stories to tell**

_July_

Two days later, Harry got another owl, a fierce looking beast dropping off two tightly rolled scrolls before flying off again, not waiting for an answer. It was his and Draco's official summons for the Death Eater trials. Harry had been dreading this, ever since Kingsley's visit. Maybe before. He wished, not for the first time, that he had his friends there, or Molly Weasley to offer him a hug, or even Ginny, her warm hand in his. Harry looked up to see Draco opening his own summons, and he realised that he did have someone with him, even if Draco wasn't exactly going to offer any comfort. Their eyes met and they shared a moment of silent understanding, then parted ways.

On the morning of the first trial, Draco was gone before Harry got downstairs. Harry hated himself for it, but he was relieved. As much as he didn't want to be alone, he didn't think he could cope with the extra pressure of being seen with Draco.

He stood in the study, and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. He didn't need to be wallowing in his fears when he had the Wizengamot to face. He took a moment to finish collecting himself, then walked to the fireplace, threw in a handful of Floo powder, and went to the Ministry. As much as he hated travelling by Floo, he didn't think his nerves would stand for the extra time walking would take. He just wanted to get this over and done with.

Stepping out of the Floo at the Ministry, Harry was suddenly bombarded with reporters and their questions. Anxiety tightened his gut as he was overwhelmed. As he considered the merits of turning and jumping back through the Floo, a wonderful, familiar feeling of relief sprang up inside of him at the sight of Hagrid, head and shoulders above the crowd, making his way over to Harry with a pair of Aurors.

"This way, Harry," Hagrid said, guiding him to a side door. "It's quieter back here and besides, there's some people as wants to see you." Harry was ushered into a small antechamber and broke into a wide smile when he saw Ron and Hermione sitting inside on the worn, institutional chairs. Hermione leapt up and threw her arms around him. "Harry," she whispered fiercely, clinging on tightly. Harry held onto her, breathing in her warmth and the smell of paper. A small part of his soul relaxed and felt at home. He drew back from her and gave her a kiss on the forehead, "Hermione," he said with a smile.

Harry looked up as Ron stood and made his way towards the pair. Ron's arm reached out automatically for Hermione, and she held his hand and moved towards him immediately. With Hermione by his side, Ron cleared his throat and spoke up. "Mate," he started, his voice carrying a hint of an antipodean twang, "I'm sorry we left things like we did." He sighed. "It's all been so hard–"

"No, don't worry about it," interrupted Harry. "I'm the one who should be apologising. I'm sorry I couldn't help you more, Ron."

Ron looked over at Hermione, his expression soft. He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. She blushed shyly. "It's ok, Harry, I had Hermione."

Harry swept them both up in a quick hug. "I'm so glad you have each other," he said, smiling and happy for them. "And I can't believe you already sound Australian, Ron," he added, laughing. The sound of a sniffle broke them apart, and Harry turned to see Hagrid blowing his nose on a large spotty red handkerchief.

"S'lovely," he said. "S'good to see yer together again."

When Harry looked back at his friends, he could see subtle changes in the way that they carried themselves. There was a sadness to Hermione, and Harry wondered if it would always be there. Ron looked more like a man, more serious somehow. He wondered how his own face had been marked. Then he remembered Draco's wounded eyes, and he knew.

Harry held out his hand to Hermione. "Your parents...?" he asked, not wanting to push her but at the same time wanting her to know that he cared.

Hermione nodded once, curtly. "They've got some memories back now. They're in the wizarding hospital in Sydney. It's been... they're quite angry actually," she swallowed, "and hurt. It's a delicate time, we're going back as soon as we can." She looked up. "Thank goodness for Portkeys," she said, with a wry smile. Harry squeezed her hand and said nothing, not wanting to ask for too much. Hermione smiled with gratitude and quickly wiped at her eyes. When she spoke again her voice was business-like and focused.

"We can Floo directly into this room, to avoid the reporters. They should have given you the direct Floo address, Harry." As she scowled disapprovingly, Harry wondered what Draco had faced when he arrived. He felt bad for not having thought of how it might be for him, but he'd been caught up in his own anxieties. "As I understand it, the Death Eaters who we can testify against are being tried first. I think a lot people want to hear what we have to say. Also, this way it helps me too. We have to get back to Sydney. I know this is important–" she stopped to gesture around her, "–but so are my parents. Anyway, they'll call us back if we're needed again." She looked at Harry, her eyes serious, and she sighed. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "What we say carries a lot of weight, I– I know that we've already done so much which has had huge consequences for people, but what we say today will influence what happens to those on trial."

"Hermione, love, we've been through this already," Ron said. "Yes, everyone will listen to us. But the thing to remember is that the Death Ealters still chose to do what they did. They're responsible for their actions, and the consequences, not us."

"I know," she said quietly.

Harry stared at Ron. He seemed so grown-up in that moment, and Harry felt a bubble of pride push its way past his ongoing anxiety about the day. After a moment his eyes swept back to Hermione.

"I understand, Hermione," said Harry. "It would be nice not to feel responsible for people's lives, for once." She paused, then nodded her head slightly, although her eyes still seemed far away.

They sat together and talked quietly, sometimes stopping to just sit together in silence, until it was time to find their seats before the Wizengamot. When they walked in and all eyes turned their way, Harry was grateful to be with his friends; it did help take some of the attention off him. He remembered his previous visits here, as a boy, through Dumbledore's memories, and polyjuiced. He shivered and hoped that justice was a little fairer today.

They sat and listened as the list of crimes was read out: the resurrection of Voldemort, including what had happened to Harry and Cedric; Death Eater attacks on Harry and those injured or lost during those attacks; the storming of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's death; and the final battle of Hogwarts. Harry realised that the focus of the trial wasn't the Death Eaters, but instead him, Harry Potter, and his friends. The thought of it made him feel suffocated, as if there was no air left in the room; Harry didn't want it to be about him. What about everyone else who had suffered? What about the way the Ministery had acted? He felt a cool touch on his arm and turned to see Hermione looking at him. She shook her head slightly and he understood. Those trials would come later: first people needed to hear this part of the story. They needed to know what had happened. He took a deep breath, nodded slightly and turned his attention back to the trial.

When it was his turn to speak, sat in the round room with faces tiered expectantly above him, Harry recounted the key moments he had seen Death Eaters active in the past few years. The room sat in absolute silence as he described Cedric Diggory's death, and Voldemort's resurrection. There were a few mutterings when he named the Death Eaters present, even then. He was pausing for a moment, sipping from a glass of water, when he caught sight of a flash of pale blond hair and his eyes met with Draco's for a second. Draco was looking at him, _looking_ at him, as if he had never seen him before. All of a sudden Harry felt vulnerable, as if it were to Draco and Draco alone he was testifying. Even after they had looked away from each other, Harry remained conscious of who his audience really was. It didn't help that he had moved onto the portion of his tale concerning the Astronomy Tower, and Dumbledore's death. Yet he knew he had no choice but to continue, so he did, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. What he had to say was too important to let his emotions get in the way.

Harry chanced a glance up at Draco as he described him lowering his wand. He wasn't the only one, many in the room were scrutinising him too. Draco had his head lowered, and he was flushed with emotion.

The day wore on, with Ron and Hermione adding their testimony to his. At one point, mid-afternoon, Ron and Harry were watching Hermione answer questions, in her typical concise, fluid and informative manner. By unspoken agreement none of the three mentioned nor explained the Horcruxes, sticking to a simplistic 'ways to weaken Voldemort' line. Even Hermione, respecter of all truths and collector of all details, skirted around the issue. She knew, just as much as they did, that some types of knowledge were best forgotten.

"She's making it all sound so easy," grumbled Ron. Whatever his words though, he couldn't hide the pride with which he regarded her. Listening to Hermione talk about evading the Death Eaters on their trail, Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron. She did make it sound easy. But then how could any of them ever describe the months of cold, or the burden of carrying the locket?

Harry looked over at Ron, and he could see his friend was thinking the same, from the way he shivered slightly, sadness and regret seeping onto his face. Harry moved closer and gave him a small, private smile of understanding. Ron returned the smile, his face a little bit lighter as he turned his attention back to Hermione. Harry was grateful for the company, and the understanding they could share. He couldn't see how anything could ever break their friendship, not after everything they'd been through together.

Looking up he caught Draco staring at him, a curious look – a look of something like longing – on his face. He blinked and glanced away when he saw Harry had seen him. Harry realised then that Draco had sat alone all day. Not only was he not with his family, there was also a space – small, but noticeable – between him and those sitting nearest on the benches. Harry felt something catch inside of him, at the thought of not having anyone to share this with.

When they had finished their testimonies, and had responded to what had felt like endless questions from the Wizengamot, they were courteously thanked and a slowly growing ripple of applause worked its way round the chamber. Harry found the whole experience mortifying. In the small antechamber again, Harry gave Ron and Hermione one more hug before they had to go.

"That was... intense," said Ron.

"Are you ok, Harry? You had to speak more than the two of us together," asked Hermione, full of concern.

Harry was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be fine. Maybe... maybe today will be the last time we have to talk about this. You know, publicly."

"I'd quite like to move on myself," agreed Hermione. "Talking of which, I think we're going back to Australia tomorrow."

Harry swallowed back his disappointment. He had only just got his friends back, and they were going again.

"I wish we could stay longer," said Hermione, "but the timings don't work out. My parents already... feel betrayed. I need to be there to reassure them. And help prompt their memories." She sighed, and looked away.

"We're staying at the Burrow tonight," said Ron. "Do you want to come over?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet, Ron. Besides, I think I just want to go straight to bed. Today's been..." he trailed off, lost for how to describe it.

"Yeah," said Ron, "it has."

"Are you going to be ok, Harry?" asked Hermione, again. Harry looked at his friends. Being with them today had helped so much, but he could see how together they could support each other more than he would ever be able to. There was only one answer he could give. "Yes," he said, "yes I will."

There were more hugs and goodbyes, and then they were gone. Harry sat for a while before stepping into the Floo himself. The room was empty without Ron and Hermione. He didn't feel the confidence with which he'd reassured them. Not at all.

When Harry got back home, he was completely drained. He felt cold and empty. Without the distraction of his friends, he was left to dwell on his testimony that day. It didn't feel like much time separated him from those awful events, not really. It had only been a few months since some of them. His voice was croaky from overuse when he briefly requested something to eat and a hot bath from Kreacher, his scruples on hold. And when he saw himself in the old silvered mirror in the hallway, he saw a face as pale as if he'd been with Dementors. Kreacher gave him a bowl of stew and some bread.

"Kreacher, have you seen Draco?" Harry asked, between mouthfuls.

"Yes, Master Harry. Master Draco is in his room," answered Kreacher.

"Why isn't he here?" mused Harry, half to himself. He was startled when Kreacher answered this question too. "Master Draco has asked for his meals to be served in his room." Harry felt a surge of disappointment. He had hoped that he would see Draco. Even though they hadn't spoken properly to each other in weeks, he still appreciated the company at mealtimes. Harry's mood was dark though, and he had plenty to brood over. Kreacher left Harry alone as he ate, and as he sat by himself in the dark kitchen, he had a quiet moment remembering Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Snape and his parents. They all seemed so much clearer after having talked about them today. Some moments weren't for sharing, Harry realised, and he wrapped himself up in his solitude.

Seeing Ron and Hermione again had reminded him just how warm it made him feel to be in the company of friends, and no matter how dark his mood, he missed them. In the end Harry went to bed early, as he'd said he would, overwhelmed and tired by his day. His thoughts tumbled through his head: the dead, his friends, the other lost boy hiding in the bedroom next door. After an hour or two of tossing and turning, Harry gave up. Exhaustion wasn't enough to help him sleep, so he sought out the stars for company. As he left his room, he wasn't too surprised to see light bleeding out from under Draco's shut door.

Harry crept quietly down to the garden, in need of clear space above him. He had hated been shut up all day, without being able to see the sky. Even through the blur of London lights, he could make out a few of the brightest points of the familiar constellations. He had brought his worn old eiderdown with him, and wrapped it close to him against the slight chill of the July night. As Harry sat below the waning moon, he thought again of Hermione's question. Was he going to be ok? "I hope so," he whispered into the night breeze.

"Talking to yourself, Harry?"

Harry jumped. Draco was standing beside him. Without asking, he sat down next to Harry, who moved over after a second's surprise. "I couldn't sleep," Draco offered by way of explanation.

"You'd think I'd be tired after today, and I am, but I can't sleep either," said Harry, with a resigned sigh.

"When I was little, my mo—" Draco stopped short, wary of breaking the Taboo. "I once heard a story about not being able to sleep." He looked at Harry, hesitating. Harry nodded for Draco to carry on. He gave Harry a searching look, then settled into his seat, shut his eyes and began to talk in a gently rhythmic voice, as if reciting something from memory.

_"There was once a tree. He was only young, but was growing sure and straight in his little glade. Every day birds would sit and sing in his branches, and at night he would sway and breathe, listening to the songs of the stars. One night, an owl landed on the lowest bough of a nearby tree. The little tree looked at the bird resting on his neighbour in wonder. He had never seen a bird awake at night, and he was fascinated. The owl built a nest in the bigger tree, and soon her swooping hunt became part of the life of the sapling._

_After a while, they became friends. One night, the sapling asked her a question he had long wanted to ask. 'Do you not miss the daylight? When you sleep, so much happens in the world around us.' The owl hooted, and flew up and in a wide circle of soft white feathers before returning to answer._

_'Little tree, when I fly high in the sky I see the tiniest mouse creep through the grass. My companions are the stars and the moon, and the dreams of others. And when I sleep during the day, I myself dream of magic and life, growing and springing around me.' _

_The tree was quiet after this, thinking about what the owl had said. The next day, when a song bird landed on his branches, he asked a new question._

_'Do you ever wonder what you miss when you sleep at night?' and the tiny bird tilted her head in the bright sunlight and trilled her answer._

_'Little tree, when I sit in your branches I sing of love and beauty. I see all the world unfurl before me. And when I sleep at night, I dream of magic and life, growing and springing around me.'_

_The tree thought and thought about these answers, and then he grew sad, because although he saw the wonders of both day and night, he could not fly or soar or sing, and he had never had a dream. His sadness weighed heavily on him, and as the nights grew longer and the weather colder his leaves began to brown and die. One by one they dropped off, and with each leaf's loss he grew more and more weary until finally, as the last one dropped, he fell into a deep slumber. _

_And he dreamed. He dreamed of flying high above the forest canopy, all the way to the moon and the stars. He dreamed of magic as it moved through the world, and love as it warmed the lives of all it touched. His heart filled with the song of life._

_When spring came, he woke as buds burst through and new leaves opened one by one. And when the owl and the songbird visited, he was no longer sad, because he too knew what it was to dream."_

Draco finished the story. He was looking up at the moon, and Harry could see an extra shine round his eyes and in a line running down one cheek. Harry sat back, strangely moved by the little story. He didn't know any wizarding children's stories apart from those from Beedle the Bard. And as for Muggle ones – he'd always been the child who hadn't been able to recite the nursery rhymes or join in with favourite tales. It had always made him feel like a stranger in an unfamiliar land. He had a sudden image of a pale-haired Narcissa and a boy-Draco, sitting together. A lump rose in his own throat at the thought of what he had missed in his own childhood. He shook himself to clear his head, and stood. "Thank you, Draco," he said softly. "Goodnight."

Without looking up Draco murmured a "Goodnight," in response. Harry went in, feeling calm. He left Draco to his thoughts and memories, in the dark and tangled garden. Harry fell asleep with ease, and that night dreamt of a forest of green leaves, silver under the moon.

oOo

The next day, it was Harry sitting to one side and Draco facing the Wizengamot. They had not seen each other in the morning, and anyway, Harry would have been unsure what to say after their strange moonlit encounter the night before. Draco was one of the first up. He sat looking small and nervous, his skin waxy in the magical flares lighting the room. Draco looked like he might actually be sick as the first questions were asked. When he answered, he spoke of being frightened for his family, young, trapped. He paled as he faced Katie Bell. Arthur Weasley made a short statement about Ron's poisoning, but also about Draco not identifying him at the Manor. Draco spoke in a quiet voice as he confirmed Harry's story of what had happened on the astronomy tower. His voice broke a little as he apologised for letting Death Eaters into the school. There were hisses at that. It was not something to be forgiven or forgotten quickly or lightly.

Harry looked over at the gallery of Death Eaters, awaiting their turn. He saw their faces, closed and impassive, as Draco spoke. And then he saw Lucius Malfoy. His eyes were cold as he watched his son testify.

Harry himself was asked to speak on Draco's behalf, not against him. This drew a shocked murmur from the crowd. Harry looked over at Draco, who was sat absolutely still, staring at him. The expression on his face was one of tightly wound tension, as if the smallest of sounds touches would cause him to fall apart or explode. Harry turned his attention back to the Wizengamot, and he spoke slowly and clearly to reaffirm that he did not think Draco was a killer, and to confirm that he had seen Draco being coerced with threats to his family and through the use of Unforgivables. Harry couldn't help but glance over at Draco again, and he saw that he had his eyes closed, a look of concentration on his face as he listened. Harry knew his words carried weight, and he could almost see the ripples of shifting opinion move through the Wizengamot and through the spectators. Usually this would have irritate him, to have such a hold over people who didn't know him, but today he was glad, for Draco's sake.

Directly after Draco came Narcissa. Again, Harry rose to speak in her defence. Again, the room was silent as he told of surviving death for a second time (although a little blurry on the details) and of Narcissa's lie to Voldemort. Not many people had known that detail before, and shocked mutterings were heard. He looked up at her, sitting erect and almost calm, only the slight tremor in her hands as evidence of her nerves. Harry remembered his image of her with a younger Draco. However he'd seen her in the past, she now seemed entirely defined by being a mother. He glanced over at Draco. He was leaning forward in his seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair in front of him. Harry cleared his throat, and publicly thanked Narcissa for saving his life.

That night, when Harry heard Draco go out into the garden he made two mugs of hot chocolate before going out to join him.

"I know we can't talk about... any of this," he said, as he sat down and offered over a mug. But I thought you might like a drink." Draco nodded in thanks.

They sat together in silence for a while.

"I slept... better, last night," said Harry. "I liked your story. Thank you."

Draco smiled weakly, his lips a thin line across his face. "A pity it didn't work for me, then."

"Oh," said Harry, "well, today was never going to be easy." He looked directly at Draco. He wanted to reassure him, but he couldn't. He didn't know what the future held, or how Draco would be judged. He shrugged in resignation, in apology for their joint helplessness. Harry looked away before he spoke again.

"I don't have any stories to share with you. But when I was little, and it was dark and I was alone, I used to shut my eyes tightly and just _listen_. I would listen to the sound of my own breathing, the air going in and out. I would hear my pulse beating in my ears. I would lie very still, and I would hear the stillness of the room – it's a kind of audible hush. I would feel myself floating as I listened to the sounds of the house. The subtle creaks, the groans and flow of water in pipes. Then I would become aware of noises from outside. A car door closing, a cat screeching, a snatch of voices. Eventually, as I lay there, I would feel that I was a speck floating on a sea of tiny noises, and that somehow I was part of a wider world. It helped me feel less... lonely, and with the company of everything and everyone I heard, I would go to sleep." Harry stopped talking, remembering his cupboard, his loneliness. However far away they were, at least now he had friends and people he knew cared about him. He sighed though, for the child he'd been.

"Were you... often alone?" asked Draco, gently. Harry looked up at him, surprised for some reason at the question. "Um, yes, I was," he answered. "I don't like to talk much about it, actually." He was glad when Draco didn't ask him any more, and they sat there drinking their hot chocolates, until first Draco went to bed, then Harry.

oOo

Over the next week, although his presence wasn't strictly necessary, Harry went to the trials every day. He felt compelled to hear Draco as he spoke up against one Death Eater after another. From whispered gossip and glimpses of the _Prophet_, he soon realised that he wasn't the only one. The wizarding world seemed to be casting Draco as a victim in his own right, trying to make amends now. The question was, was it too late? Harry watched in horrified fascination as Draco systematically broke each and every tie to his father and his former life. Quietly a sense of admiration for Draco's bravery grew. He was watching him in his last fight, destroying his past in an attempt to have a future.

The days were long, claustrophobic and strained. Harry grew to hate the trials and their airless, sad spaces. And yet he continued to return. He watched from the sidelines as Amycus Carrow spat at Draco, as Draco recounted in a shamed voice some of what he had been asked to do in his seventh year at Hogwarts.

At night they would meet in the garden, and exchange innocent snippets from their childhoods. Draco described the first time he flew on a broom. His eyes lit up briefly as he spoke of falling off, time after time, until that special moment when it had all clicked and he'd made his first wobbly solo flight. Harry told him about the first time he spoke to a snake, and Draco laughed as Harry described it slithering off, indignant. Draco's laughter sounded different to how Harry remembered it, and it took him a moment to work out why: Draco was laughing with him, not at him. He liked the sound; Draco's laugh was warm and light, a welcome noise after the gloom of the trials.

They never mentioned anything to do with the trials, or Draco's parents. It was a strangely safe space, with no history other than the stories they told each other. The next day it never felt real, like a dream.

oOo

The Chief Warlock adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose and looked sternly at the three Malfoys standing in front of him. Their acts had been so intertwined they had been heard together, and now their futures were being announced together. Lucius had just been sentenced to Azkaban for life, and he was white-faced and shaking, a tall Auror already holding onto his arm. Although Harry had been expecting this outcome, he was still shaken by the realisation that this was it: he'd probably never see Lucius Malfoy again. Lucius would never again enjoy an open sky. Something inside Harry shrivelled at the thought of what that would mean if it were him losing his freedom.

The wizard now spoke to Draco. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, your actions are serious too. You have used two of the Unforgiveable Curses, poisoned and hexed fellow students, and you enabled the entry of Death Eaters and the werewolf Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts School." Draco had his head bowed, and his shoulders looked like they bore a great weight too. Harry was torn between watching Draco and looking at the Chief Warlock as he announced the Wizengamot's decision. In the end he looked at both, eyes flitting between the two men. He held his breath as the old wizard continued. "You also bear the Dark Mark, and as such are formally recognised as a Death Eater. However, we have heard that you were still young when you received the mark, and coerced into acting as you did under threat of torture of yourself, and with threats to the safety of your family. Mr Potter has spoken in your defence, stating that you are not a killer. You also lied to protect his identity, and did not definitively identify his companions, at considerable risk to your own safety. Taking all these things into consideration, it is the decision of the Wizengamot that you should not go to Azkaban–" Narcissa Malfoy cried out in relief, briefly, at this, and Draco finally looked up, "—but instead should help rebuild Hogwarts, to amend for your betrayal of your school and your former fellow pupils. In addition to this, your behaviour will be monitored by the Ministry for the next five years. You will report to a nominated witch or wizard each month. Do you understand?" He looked sternly at Draco who appeared to be frozen. Haltingly, Draco managed to nod, twice.

Harry inhaled shakily as the wizard's attention turned to Narcissa. _Draco was free_. He had not realised how much he had worried about what would happen to him, until he'd seen Lucius sentenced. He had not realised just how much he wanted Draco to stay out of Azkaban. He barely heard as Narcissa was told she was free to go, provided that her behaviour remained exemplary over the next five years, with the same checks and stipulations as Draco. He just about took in that the Malfoy family was also ordered to pay hefty reparations to be shared between Hogwarts and the Fund being established to support the victims of Voldemort.

It was only after the stern wizard had stopped speaking, and the noise in the room grew from silence to whispers and finally to a more frenzied level of talk, that Harry dared to walk up to a blinking Draco. He leant in close and whispered "It's over now, you're free," then he gave Draco the barest hint of an encouraging smile and touched his arm for a brief second. Draco looked up, eyes wide in surprise. It only took a moment, but the picture would still be on all the front pages the next day: the hero forgiving his former enemy.

Draco stayed in his room that night; Harry gave him the space he needed, willingly. Harry still went to sit outside, with just the night breezes for company. He contemplated the sky, wide open above him, then closed his eyes and breathed in, and enjoyed the feeling of freedom it gave him.


	5. Not Quite Friends

**A/N: **Things start to change now, as Harry and Draco get to know each other. Thanks for the reviews, it's good to know that someone's reading this. :)

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Not-quite Friends**

"Kreacher, do you know if we have any marmal—" Harry broke off at the sight of Draco walking into the kitchen at breakfast. It had been a while since Draco had eaten in the kitchen.

"Minister Shacklebolt told me that he lifted the Taboo," said Draco softly, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes focused on some point over Harry's shoulder. Harry felt strangely awkward around Draco. Without the restrictions on their conversation, suddenly chasms of difference and uncertainty opened between them. Plus they had just shared some of the worst moments of their lives in front of each other and the world in general. What Harry needed was a bit of _ordinary_ life, not more of the same battles and feelings. He acted accordingly.

"Do you want marmalade? I was just asking Kreacher if we had some," said Harry. Draco looked at him for a moment, then moved towards the table and sat down. Kreacher opened a cupboard and brought a jar of rich orange marmalade to the table. They sat companionably together, and ate breakfast.

After breakfast, instead of going their separate ways, Harry and Draco stayed in the kitchen. Kreacher disappeared upstairs with a giant feather duster, a look of eager anticipation on his ancient face. Harry filled the heavy kettle, and set it on the range. "Tea?" he asked, unhooking a mug from the dresser. Draco looked up, surprise on his face. He had been lost in this thoughts, idly tracing the grain in the wooden table. "Ok," he smiled.

In a few minutes, Harry had set a teapot, two mugs, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and some spoons on the table. He was glad that Kreacher wasn't there to do it, it made him feel a little more connected to the world, just making tea and then sitting down to enjoy it.

It was strange. They'd been sharing the house for a month now, but they weren't quite the same people they'd been at the start.

"I didn't realise you'd been... I didn't know what you'd..." Draco frowned, unable to express what he wanted to say. "What I mean is, you were really fighting the Dar– him, for years, weren't you?"

Harry sighed and nodded. So much for ordinary conversation. But then he thought of something which had occurred to him during Draco's trial. "So were you, weren't you? Maybe not a fight to the death," he smiled wryly, the words of the prophecy ringing in his ears, "but a fight to get free. A fight for your life."

Draco looked up at him, his eyes a piercing shock of grey. "No one's ever described it as that before," he said quietly, then looked down and blinked. "I think I was just scared. There was no plan. No desire to fight, just survive," he whispered.

There was a long silence. "We were just boys," said Harry in the end, a little anger creeping into his voice. "Neither of us should have had to do any of those things."

"Well it's over now. Thanks to you," said Draco. "Thank you," he added, sincerely.

Usually, Harry hated it when people thanked him for killing Voldemort, he hated being reduced down to that single moment in his life, but in Draco's case, he didn't mind: they had shared enough to know that both their lives were defined by more than Voldemort. And Harry had a fair idea of how much of a direct impact Voldemort's demise would have had on Draco's life. He simply nodded in acknowledgment, and poured himself another cup of tea.

They were disturbed by a tapping at the window. Two owls were outside: Harry recognised one as Pigwidgeon, tiny and fluffy and bouncing up and down. He smiled and let them in. Turning to Draco he said, a little sheepishly, "Er, today's actually... it's my birthday today." Draco put down his cup of tea, his eyes wide.

"Today?"

Harry nodded, then collected the letter and small parcel Pig was carrying, and the larger parcel from... ah, it was Hermes, Percy's owl. He couldn't help smiling as he recognised Hermione's handwriting on the letter Hermes had been carrying. He quickly found some scraps of toast for the owls, then headed back to the table carrying his presents. He was halfway to the table when there was a slight crash as Errol landed on the window sill, also bearing a gift. Harry made sure the old owl had some toast too, then sat down with his birthday pile. Draco looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

Harry looked up, surprised. "Why should you know? I wasn't expecting a gift, or anything, so don't worry. It's not as if we're frien—" he cut off hastily at the look of hurt on Draco's face. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. We haven't been friends, in the past, and to be honest, I'm not sure what we are now. Housemates?" Harry stopped himself before he dug himself any deeper. Draco had sunk in on himself, and didn't look very happy. He remembered Draco, sitting in the moonlight, and he remembered how relieved he had been that Draco was free. He stopped, confused.

"Can we start again? I didn't mean..."

Draco looked up, but Harry could still see the hurt on his face. He took a deep breath, then nodded. "Happy Birthday, Harry," he said softly. "So what did you get?.

Harry would have preferred not to be opening his presents in this slightly strained atmosphere, but it was still better than so many of his birthdays before. It would just have to do. He picked up the letter from Hermione first.

_Dear Harry,_

_Wishing you a very happy birthday. I'm sorry we can't be there with you, but I hope your present helps. Percy has been holding it for you, I hope you don't mind. We're doing ok, things are going a bit better with my parents and I think we may even be able to come home in the next month or so. Have a lovely day today, we'll be thinking of you._

_Love from_

_Hermione_

At the bottom was scrawled another note, from Ron.

_Happy Birthday, mate. Guess which present's from me? Sorry not to be there in person to give it to you, but hopefully we'll see you soon._

_Ron_

Harry felt himself warm with pleasure at the snippets from his friends, and opened his presents from them. In a neatly wrapped parcel was a wooden frame containing a wizarding photo of him with Ron and Hermione. They were sitting together on a wall in Hogsmeade. It looked like it had been taken when they were in their sixth year. They were relaxed and laughing. Harry laughed too, when he saw photo-Ron sneak a little look at photo-Hermione. As he opened the other, much heavier and messier parcel, Draco leant forward to take the photo, waiting a moment for Harry pass it to him, and he sat back, eyes focused on it, his face unreadable. As Harry pulled out a bottle of firewhisky from a tangle of wrappings, obviously his gift from Ron, he caught sight of Draco's closed face, and regretted his earlier words. Deciding that the worst thing to do would be to mention it again, he put the bottle down and reached for his other gifts. Pigwidgeon had been carrying a small box from George. Inside was a selection of wizarding sweets, all Harry's favourites. It made him smile.

The other parcel contained a hamper of lovely home-made jams and chutneys, and a cake from Molly and Arthur. Their card was signed by all the Weasleys, including Ginny. It just said, simply, 'Happy Birthday Harry, and come back when you're ready. You're always welcome here.' Harry had to swallow down the lump in his throat. If Draco was a not-quite friend, the Weasleys were his not-quite family. He was touched by the ordinary nature of all his gifts. It was... it was just what he needed.

Draco was watching him thoughtfully. "These are your presents?" he asked. "All of them?"

Harry looked at the gifts spread out on the table and nodded. "They're perfect,' he whispered.

Draco sat back, looking puzzled. "You're not who I thought you were," he said. "You're... you don't actually want that much in life, do you?" Harry frowned as he tried to understand Draco's question. "I mean, if it were up to you, you'd drink tea and wash up, you're happy with _jam_ as a birthday present and your favourite place appears to be an overgrown mess a garden. I just always thought you wanted... more in life."

Harry laughed, a short, bitter bark. "I've had more in life. Fame. Danger. Death. It wasn't fun, and you're right, it's not what I want. It never was."

He paused for a second before breaking out in a smile, "You're wrong about one thing though. That garden isn't my favourite place. I just prefer being outdoors to being inside," he cocked his head at Draco. "Would you like to see one of my favourite places?" he asked.

"Outside?" asked Draco.

Harry snorted. "Of course. But in Muggle London. So do you want to come? I was planning on going anyway."

Draco thought for a moment before answering. "Ok, yes, yes I'd like to join you. If you're sure."

Harry smiled in answer.

Half an hour later they were both walking, strides matching, heading towards Hampstead Heath. As they walked past the small car park and the old Lido, Harry could see Draco's curiosity growing. "It's an old Muggle park. Well it's not a park, well, not all of it, it's open land, with extra bits added on. We're going to Parliament Hill first, then through the Heath and up to Kenwood. You'll see, it's lovely."

They made their way across an expanse of grass scattered with dog walkers, and onto the foot of the hill, running track to their left, café to their right. They stepped off the path, and Harry nodded in the direction of the trees at the crest of the hill. Being outside with someone else for company on his birthday filled him with a bubbling energy. "Race you to the top?" he asked, and he had just enough time to see Draco's surprised look before he turned and started to run. One quick glance over his shoulder told him that Draco had followed, and they headed straight up, racing each other up the hill; laughter caught in gusts of wind, kites dipping above them. It was warm enough, but not sunny or bright. Collapsing at the top, they sat on a bench huffing and puffing while they got their breath back, each sure they had been first, and pointed out London landmarks to each other – as well as they could on the slightly cloudy day. Harry had got better at recognising the landmarks, and Draco knew quite a few too. "I have had some education, you know," he'd said, when Harry had expressed surprise at him being aware of anything in the Muggle world.

Harry and Draco talked as they made their way through long grass. They talked as if the taboo was still in place, as it was safer, easier to stay on topics with no link to their shared pasts. Harry told Draco of what he understood of the Muggle history of this part of London, and Draco told him about the different wizarding plants that grew in the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even this innocuous topic brought with it an awkward silence, as they both relived their memories of the Manor. Back under the shelter of trees, they found a hidden corner and shared Harry's chocolate frogs and Bertie Botts Beans, his sugar quills and his Fizzing Whizbees. They giggled and acted as if it were Harry's eighth birthday, not his eighteenth, as they chased hopping chocolate.

"This would not be the time to get caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy," said Harry, and although they had both been laughing, the mood changed and they quietened down.

"Still, no one saw us, and that was _fun._ I haven't chased a chocolate frog for years," Draco looked up grinning.

"You don't think we missed one, do you?" asked Harry, looking around him anxiously.

Draco shook his head. "I was counting them," he said, "they're all gone now." He leant forward. "Well all except–", and he leant forward. For a second, Harry thought he was going to touch him, but Draco just pointed at his face, "–this hideous smear of chocolate on your face." As Harry reached up to wipe it off as Draco continued. "You really are a messy eater, Harry." Harry looked affronted. "I _have_ shared quite a few meals with you recently," Draco arched one brow, and Harry started laughing when he realised that Draco was not being entirely serious. Or he hoped he wasn't, anyway. He was relieved when Draco started laughing too.

They had been to the big house at Kenwood, past the Muggles having tea, and were now walking back along a dusty path, under the cover of trees. The day so far had been pleasant. Harry had never had a birthday like it, and he felt happy, contented. Even the threat of drizzle was not enough to dampen his spirits. They walked back via the Highgate Ponds. They paused by the men's pool. Despite the gathering clouds, there were still a few brave souls swimming. The pool was just a large pond, set to the side of the Heath. Draco looked down into the water and shuddered. "I bet there's mud down there." Below the water, everything was murky, the swimmers' bodies emerging naked from the surface.

Harry looked at the water with longing. He loved being outdoors, and he couldn't think of anything better then stripping off on a hot summer's day, and going for a swim in cool water that smelt of the earth and the living things all around it. When Harry looked up, Draco was blushing. It was then that he became aware of the men around them. One was watching them, his stare frank, his interest open. "Oh," said Harry, understanding, "time to move on, perhaps?" Draco nodded. Seeing the confident pose of the man watching, Harry suddenly felt very much like a boy amongst men, a little out of his depth. He felt uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He turned to Draco and attempted to lighten the mood. "That's what you get for being a pretty boy," he said teasingly, and Draco blushed again and pushed him away. Smiling at how easy it was to unsettle Draco, Harry led him away from the ponds and back down towards home.

oOo

After tea and cake they just about managed the bangers and mash Harry had requested Kreacher cook for his birthday, and settled in the drawing room with the bottle of firewhisky. It was a mild evening, but Harry lit a fire anyway, making sure the Floo was closed. He just wanted a quiet evening. Harry felt he needed to make amends for what he'd said to Draco earlier.

"Draco, about this morning, I—"

Draco shook his head. "You were just being honest. We may have been able to live together peacefully enough, but we hated each other for years. And so much has happened..." he shrugged.

"I don't, you know," said Harry after a moment, "hate you, that is. I haven't since sixth year, I think."

"Really? I don't hate you either, but," and here Draco paused and sighed loudly, "I did hate you especially much in sixth year." His hand moved to his chest, and he looked down as if surprised to see it there.

Harry cringed. He balled his hands into fists then forced them open again, rubbing them back and forth on the tops of his legs. "I'm sorry," he took a breath and swallowed, "I've wanted to say that for years. I'm sorry I hurt you."

Draco looked at him, his eyes heavy and focused. "You almost killed me," he said, icily. This was it, thought Harry, this was why they couldn't be friends. Or one of the reasons, anyway. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I was angry with you for a long time. You almost killed me, and yet you didn't appear to be in any trouble. Anyone else would have been expelled. And I wasn't exactly having a great time anyway, that year."

"I... I didn't know what that spell did, just that it was 'for enemies'. Using it was one of the most stupid things I've ever done. For what it's worth, as well as being sorry. I'm glad you're ok. I'm glad that you're here, now." Harry tried to show, somehow, with his eyes that he meant what he was saying. "I'm growing to like you, Draco, and I'd like it if we could at least try to be friends."

Draco still looked unsure. "I'm not as angry as I was, but I don't know how easy it would be for us to be friends. Don't forget, before you cast that cutting spell, I was trying to use the Cruciatus Curseon you," he cast his eyes down, unhappiness radiating out from him.

Harry stopped. He thought he understood now. "Draco. Draco, look at me," Draco looked up, and there were tears in the corner of his eyes, "You're right. There is a lot of history between us, and some of it is terrible. But if we want to be friends, why not?" He paused, struggling to find the words to convey what he wanted to say. "We can try to know each other a little better, and that might mean we can't avoid these things, but that we need to talk about them instead. Maybe one day you could... you could tell me about that year? If you want to, of course. I'd like to understand."

Draco looked at him, and Harry could suddenly clearly see the years of unhappiness etched on his face. Something opened, briefly, in his expression, but then it closed down again. Harry wanted to reach out, somehow, and touch Draco to reassure him, but he didn't. Instead, he sat back and sat, in silence, giving Draco the time he needed. If Draco wanted to talk, he could, but Harry didn't want to force him into it.

After a minute or two of awkward silence between them,Harry decided that the last thing Draco needed was him hovering, waiting for some kind of a response, so he went down to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of firewhisky that Ron had sent him. When he got back Draco still didn't look like he wanted to talk, so Harry poured them both a glass, then sat staring into the fire, taking little burning sips of his drink. He was lost in his thoughts when he became aware of Draco hesitantly pulling himself up in his chair. Harry turned his attention back to Draco, and waited, still not daring to say anything which might put him off; he was under the impression that the merest sound would have Draco darting out of the door.

Draco cleared his throat and looked up, and then away. "I think... I will tell you about it. I haven't really spoken to anyone about–" he stopped, and drank a little from his glass, gulping and grimacing all at once, then it down a little shakily, and it made a small ringing sound as he settled it on the small table. "I'm not sure where to start. I suppose..." he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin, this is difficult," he muttered. Harry remained silent, and Draco took a deep breath and began. "I idolised my father, for years. I wanted to _be_ him. I know he never gave you any reason to like him, but as a boy I thought he was wonderful. He loved me so fiercely, when I did something well he would always reward me with something beautiful. He used to say '_Only the best for the best'_." Draco smiled slightly at the memory. "After he went to Azkaban I suddenly had my chance to take his place, to make him proud. I willingly took the Mark—" and here, he suddenly pushed up his sleeve to show Harry, who recoiled despite himself: it was such an _ugly_ thing on his pale skin, "—which hurt like fuck, by the way, and I should have known it was a bad idea but I was young and _stupid_," he spat the last word out, "and suddenly I discovered that being a Death Eater was not glamorous or powerful. It was awful. Everyone crawled round that maniac and there was no power, no glory. Only fear and terror. I was given an impossible mission and told if I failed my mother would die."

Draco pulled down his sleeve, then picked up his glass and took a sip of his drink. He sat a while, rubbing his arm before continuing.

"I was scared, and alone. You know what I did, how desperate I became. I could have killed your friend Weasley. And Katie Bell." Draco shot Harry a look full of self-disgust and confusion. "I don't know how you can even _look_ at me, let alone sit with me or say we might be friends," he scowled and held his glass tightly in both hands. Harry somehow managed to stay in his chair, but he was shaking. Draco had done all those terrible things, but just looking at him, seeing that self-hatred, Harry still couldn't bring himself to hate him. What he felt instead was... complicated. He wasn't sure what to call it. Sadness, maybe.

"By the time I stood with Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, I was falling apart. Your... experiment with unknown spells cut me in more way than one, you know." Harry took a nervous sip of his firewhisky, uncomfortable at being reminded just what he had so thoughtlessly done to Draco. "It left me hating you for making me feel even more... disposable than I had been before. I didn't matter to anyone, except perhaps my mother." A single tear ran down Draco's face, and his voice was beginning to crack.

Harry cleared his throat. He was beginning to regret asking Draco to tell him about his sixth year. He hadn't realised that it would be so difficult. For him too. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.

Except this time, Draco looked up and wiped his face dry, then paused, his eyes fixed on Harry. "Thank you, that means a lot," he whispered. After a moment, he continued where he'd left off. "I'd already let Death Eaters into the school: in some twisted way I hoped it would bring me approval, success. I didn't think of what they would do to anyone. I had long taken every bit of... good inside me, every bit that cared what happened to other people, and I shut it away. I didn't need it, I couldn't _survive_ if I even acknowledged it," he paused, looking haunted. "I didn't expect that filthy werewolf to come, he was... terrible... frightening.

Draco stared into the flames. "But I wasn't as strong as I thought. Faced with Dumbledore – even though I knew failure would mean the... end for my mother – I still couldn't do it. He'd had never done anything worse to me than award points to Gryffindor. I was weak, and Mother was the one who my weakness was going to harm, but I couldn't... If Snape hadn't, I don't know what would have happened to her. Or me." He stared, glumly, into his glass.

"And then last year... Last year was just one long lesson in how little I was needed, how little I mattered. Fear was just... it tainted everything. I almost stopped thinking entirely. It was only when I saw Crabbe fall, when the flames came for me, that I realised that I didn't want to give up, after all," he looked up at Harry again. "And then there you were," he whispered.

"I couldn't leave you to die," said Harry, and then he was silent. So many people had died that day.

Harry sat for a long moment, thinking and trying to really take in what Draco had told him. It was not a tale told lightly, or he suspected, to anyone else. When Harry finally spoke, it was with a mix of awe that Draco hadn't been completely crushed to madness by his experiences, and sadness that both their lives had been so blighted by Voldemort. "You– Thank you for being honest with me. I sometimes wonder what out lives would have been like without Voldemort."

Draco made a noise. "Well I'd probably still believe all that pureblood crap. One thing I've learnt is that it's all just blood. Anyone is capable of stupidity, or pride, or brilliance. No matter who your parents were," he paused, his dismissive tone turning more wistful as he continued. "Although at least I'd have somewhere I belong, something, no matter how ridiculous, to believe in." He took another sip of his drink and sighed.

"I'd still have my parents," whispered Harry, "and my godfather."

Draco stilled, and looked at him sadly. "Sometimes I almost forget that this started with you losing your parents," he murmured. "I'm sorry Harry, I know I feel I've lost my father in some ways, but I'm not sure that it compares to what happened to you."

Harry shook his head. "It's all important, Draco." He sat quietly for a minute, lost in his thoughts.

"May I ask you a question?" said Draco after a while. "I got the feeling that you were holding back, in front of the Wizengamot," Harry nodded, uncertain where this was going. "What really happened," whispered Draco, "in the Forest?"

Harry let out a huge exhale of breath and laughed, a little shakily. "Just a small question, then?" He looked at Draco carefully. He was sitting with his body drawn tight, as if trying to take up as little room as possible. His hair was bright in the firelight, but his skin was too pale, a waxy cast to it. He decided that as there wasn't anything Draco could do to hurt him now, he might as well trust him, a little bit. Draco had told him a dark truth. He had one he could tell in return.

"I um– well basically, Draco, I died, and saw all the people I knew in my life who'd died too," Harry said. He thought he'd just cut to the chase.

"You _died_?" said Draco, his mouth hanging open but sitting upright now. "You actually died?"

"Yes," nodded Harry, "and I knew that I was going to. I didn't know that I had a choice about coming back, though." Draco sat back and brought his hands to his mouth. He rubbed his chin.

"That's why you're the hero, not me," he looked up, "Seriously, you _knew_ you were walking to your death? What... what was it like?"

"Well I had finally worked out that the only way to defeat Voldemort was to end the... connection between us," he pointed to his scar, "and the only way to do that was to die. So when he called, I came," Harry shuddered, remembering Voldemort's voice seeping into every corner of Hogwarts. "I saw my parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks. They... kept me company," he swallowed. "But when I actually died, there was nothing there, not really. I was waiting – it was like Kings Cross station, but empty and the train hadn't come yet. I spoke to Dumbledore," he added with a whisper.

"It was so quiet. And then I came back, and I left the peace so I could fight Voldemort." He paused, remembering the shock of coming back to consciousness, straight back into fear and fighting. "I haven't really found much peace since then. Emptiness, perhaps, but it's really not the same," he sighed. "It changed me – not physically, or anything like that. I just feel like I've started life again, and I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. To be honest I'm not sure what to do with my life now, having already seen it end," and now it was Harry's turn to break off and stare into the flickering flames, as if searching for answers. "I guess I just want to be ordinary and insignificant, and enjoy the clouds and the moon and the feeling of grass beneath my feet. Not while running or hiding, either. I need to feel part of the _real _world." Harry brought his glass to his lips, but realised it was empty. He stood up and picked up the bottle. "More?" he asked, holding it up to Draco, who mutely held his glass up for a refill.

When Harry sat down Draco held his glass up again. "To finding peace," he said, and they clinked glasses.

"I guess that makes two of us then," said Draco. "Lost, I mean," he was quiet for a moment. "Maybe we can be friends. If you want to, knowing what you do about my past."

Harry snorted. "If you don't mind the fact that I've been dead," he said, and smiled sadly, thinking of Ginny. "It does... unsettle some people." Draco shook his head. "Maybe we should just start afresh. I don't think we're quite the same people we were before."

They talked and drank, until a gentle lassitude fell upon them. Draco entertained Harry with tales of Slytherin politics over the years. Harry was having trouble keeping up. But the details didn't really matter. Their day caught up with them in the end, the gruelling pressures and stresses of the trials, their long walk, and the small unburdening of their souls. In the drowsy warmth of the fire-lit room, their speech slowed until they fell asleep together.


	6. Freedom and Trust

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay in posting this (I was away and also, well, giving this place a miss for two days), all other chapters should be posted on Fridays as normal. Thank you for the reviews.

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**Chapter 6 - Freedom and trust**

Harry woke up the next morning, his mouth dry and his head aching. His body was stiff and uncomfortable, and he realised he had fallen asleep in the drawing room, with Draco. Draco was still asleep on the armchair opposite. He had drawn his knees up and was curled, like a long cat, on the seat. His hair was falling across his face, and Harry noticed a thin line of saliva trailing away from his mouth. He looked quite unlike his waking self. Pale eyelashes rested against smooth cheeks, and for a moment Harry couldn't put his finger on quite why Draco looked so different. Then he realised. The lines of worry which usually drew his face into a crease of worry were absent. He looked... peaceful.

As Harry watched, Draco started to wake. His eyes still tightly shut, he breathed in deeply then he stretched, his top riding up to give Harry another glimpse of his midriff, still pale and golden but this time sleep-warmed. Harry didn't know why he was so fascinated by it, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to touch it again. It just looked so _soft_. Draco yawned, opened one eye, then surreptitiously wiped away the line of drool on his chin. "What are you looking at, hero-boy?" he growled. Harry blushed, and hoped Draco hadn't seen just how closely he had been looking. He stood up and stretched himself, feeling his body protest after being held at awkward angles all night. He only stopped when his back cracked as he stretched his arms high up above his head, his hands joined.

"As I'm awake first I'll go use the bathroom first," Harry announced with a cheeky smile, before nearly skipping to the door and making his way up the stairs. For the first time in a long time, he felt a little less alone.

Over breakfast, although they didn't talk much, things somehow felt different between Harry and Draco. More... trusting. Harry wasn't sure if that was due to their sharing of secrets the night before, or just because they had slept all night in each other's company. There was... something about the thought of them lying there asleep, both at their most vulnerable, yet safe.

"Yesterday you took me to a place you liked," said Draco shyly. "Maybe I could show you somewhere I like, today?"

Harry looked up, cautiously curious.

"Where?"

Draco smiled. "It's a surprise," he face changed, becoming more serious, as if suddenly uncertain. "Do you trust me enough for that?" Harry was silent as he thought about it. Did he? It didn't take long for him to decide. He had a feeling in his gut that he could, so he went with his instincts.

"I– I think I do," he said, his voice full of wonder. He smiled as the light returned to Draco's face.

"Do you have any brooms? And could I ask Kreacher to do one or two small favours for me?" asked Draco.

"Er," said Harry, "I'm not sure about the brooms. But you can ask Kreacher for something – as long as it's all above–"

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm not really in a position to be breaking any laws now, am I?" interrupted Draco, scowling.

"No," said Harry, "I suppose not." He frowned though, and Draco looked worried.

"It really is fine, Harry," he said.

"What? Oh, no, I know," said Harry, distracted. "You just got me thinking. I may have an idea about the brooms. I wonder... Kreacher!" he called. Kreacher appeared at this elbow, with a surprisingly quiet pop! for a house elf.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"I was wondering, Kreacher, are there any brooms – for flying – in the house, somewhere? It doesn't matter if they're old–", he shot a questioning glance at Draco, who quickly shook his head, "–as long as they're safe. Also, Draco would like to ask you something, and you may help him with his task today."

"Kreacher knows where there are brooms!" said Kreacher, looking excited about being asked a question about something other than food, alcohol or hot baths. "And Kreacher is happy to be able to help a member of the Black family," and with this he gave Draco a deep bow. Deeper, Harry suspected, then any he'd received from Kreacher. Before he could respond, Kreacher had disappeared with another pop! and he could hear rumblings from some other part of the house.

A couple of minutes later, Kreacher reappeared, proudly holding two brooms aloft. They were definitely old: much straighter than modern models, and fairly scratched and well-worn. One had a red band painted around it, near the tip, the other a green one. Kreacher handed the first to Harry. It had initials carved into it: SB. His breath caught. He looked up at Draco, who was turning the other broom in his hands.

"Who's RAB?" asked Draco.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Harry said, voice quiet and shaky. He held up the broom in his hand. "Sirius's broth–"

"Mother's cousins. Your godfather and his brother," Draco said, flatly.

"Regulus was a Death Eater who changed his mind. He died trying to defeat Voldemort. Sirius–" Harry stopped.

"Crazy Aunt Bella. I would apologise for her, but I'd rather she wasn't anything to do with me," Draco paused and ran his hand through his hair. "Did you know she taught me Occlumency? It was a horrifying experience." Harry, remembering his lessons with Snape, couldn't begin to imagine. "I think I'd rather like to thank Molly Weasley for getting rid of her," Draco added, shocking Harry.

The mood had turned rather dark when Harry went upstairs to get something warmer to wear for flying. When he rejoined Draco downstairs he too had warmer gear on, and Harry assumed he'd concluded his business with Kreacher as he didn't mention it again. They stood at the foot of the stairs.

"Can we Portkey from here?" asked Draco. Harry shook his head. He cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on themselves and the broomsticks, then they stepped out of the front door. Harry hoped they were also protected from public view by the anti-Muggle charms on the house. Draco held firmly onto Harry's arm and got out his handkerchief, unwrapping it to reveal a silver teaspoon. Understanding immediately, Harry reached out as Draco counted to three. He touched the teaspoon and they were whirled away in an instant.

oOo

They were standing on green grass. It was a vivid colour, and it was wet and spiky and all around them. The air was fresh, if damp with drizzle, and thick clouds hung overhead. A stiff breeze lifted Harry's hair and whipped Draco's about his head. Turning round, Harry could see the sea through the fine mist of rain. Draco cast a quick _impervius_ on both their clothes, and Harry's glasses. He himself got out a rather old-fashioned pair of goggles. Harry cast a quick sticking charm on his glasses, one he'd found useful when playing Quidditch. Grinning, they got on the old brooms.

As Harry started climbing up into the air, he felt the restraints of his life fall away. Up here there was just him and the broom, and speed and the wind rushing around him. He looked over at Draco and saw a wild freedom on his face. They flew together, up and around, then out to sea. Harry's heart missed a beat when the grass below dropped away, and they were flying down past huge, craggy cliffs. Draco suddenly pulled his broomstick up and Harry followed, spiralling higher and higher. The wind was whistling in his ears and his lungs were full of clean, fresh air. Harry could taste the salt of the spray mingling with the sweetness of the rain. He laughed with exhilaration, with sheer joy at the experience. They flew higher and higher until he was straining for breath, and then they were diving. Just before the rising and dipping waves they pulled up, wet spray touching their feet. Draco shouted something incoherent but happy. As they flew parallel to the sea, Harry turned to head back to the cliffs, trailing one hand so it skimmed the top of the waves as he leaned in.

They spent a long time rising, diving, rushing along the cliffs; gusts of wind caught them, bringing them perilously close to the rocks from time to time, but Harry and Draco just laughed and pulled their brooms up for more. Harry felt _alive. _His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a constant rhythm below the roar or the sea and the wind. His skin was flush with exertion and despite the water on his face and under his collar, he felt himself radiating heat, his clothes clinging to him with sweat.

When they finally came to a stop at the top of the cliffs, both Harry and Draco were panting hard. The tip of Harry's nose and ears were icy cold, but he felt amazing. They stood, side by side, getting their breath back while looking out to sea. The view was spectacular. Below them waves crashed against the rocks, sending up giant plumes of spray and churning the sea to an angry white. The sky hung low with cloud above them, but it just served to make the space feel close while still being huge round them. Harry started to laugh. When he'd let it all out, he turned to Draco, eyes shining. "That was bloody brilliant!" he shouted above the sound of the sea. Draco's answering grin was wide, and filled his face.

By unspoken agreement they turned and headed inland. It was still windy, but a little quieter away from the cliff's edge. "I've always wanted to do that," said Draco.

"You've never done that before? I thought you said it was a favourite place?" said Harry, confused.

"It is a favourite place. I came here on holiday with my parents. It was... it was good to have a break from our regular lives at the Manor," he paused, his eyes distant as if seeing something far away. "But Mother would never let me fly here," he laughed. "It _is_ a little risky, Harry," he said. Harry looked back towards the sea. He supposed it was.

"Nothing for a pair of ace seekers like us, though," he grinned. "I haven't been on a broom for ages. Not since—" he stopped suddenly. Next to him, Draco paled.

"Not since the Fiendfyre," he finished for Harry. They were silent as they continued walking.

"So what next, Draco? That was the most fun I've had in a long time, but I need to have a rest now."

Draco nodded. "How about some lunch? There's a Muggle town with a handy Apparition point nearby."

Harry shook his head. "We can't walk around with the brooms."

"Call for Kreacher: he'll be able to take them back for us," said Draco, obviously more practised at how to make the most of having a house elf.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, and with a very loud crack! Kreacher appeared in front of them. He bowed low. "Kreacher would be happy to take the Masters' brooms back," and held his hands out to take them. Harry turned to Draco. "Did you plan this? Is this the favour you wanted?"

"I may have mentioned this to Kreacher. But it wasn't the favour. Do you know where we are, Harry?" Harry shook his head, a bit embarrassed not even to have asked. Draco sighed and shook his head, but he wore an amused look on his face. "We're in Ireland. It's too far to Apparate. Kreacher helped me make the Portkey," Kreacher handed Draco a small bundle of Muggle paper money, " and I asked him to change some money into Muggle money," and Draco took the money and put it in his pocket. Kreacher bowed again and Disapparated.

"Are you ready, Harry?" asked Draco, and for the second time that day Harry nodded and held onto Draco as they Apparated away.

oOo

This time they Apparated into a small clearing in some woods. They walked for about ten minutes before reaching the edge of a town, nestled in the side of a river leading out to sea. Harry insisted they have fish and chips for lunch, especially when Draco confessed that it was another thing his mother had forbidden. They sat on a bench in a small park overlooking the bay. The weather had cleared a little, and sun was starting to appear in gaps in the clouds. Puddles flashed bright with wide snatches of reflected sky, breaking up the dull grey shine of wet asphalt. Their meals lay nestled in layers of paper, a warm weight in their laps.

"Mother would hate this," said Draco, "eating with your fingers! How uncouth._ Ill-bred_." He smiled, and popped a chip into his mouth. He held his greasy fingers up and wiggled them in front of his face, then licked the salt of their tips, one by one. Harry watched in fascination as his warm, pink tongue slid over each digit, then in a slow swipe over first his top, then his bottom lip. Without thinking, Harry mirrored the action, licking around his own mouth. Suddenly conscious of his actions, he looked down quickly, and broke off a piece of crispy fish to eat. The batter was crunchy and the fish hot, breaking into thick, white flakes. It was the perfect meal.

Harry snuck another look at Draco. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes full of life. Harry watched the movement of his eyelashes as they rose and sank with each blink of his eyes. Something about the freshness of the day or the adrenaline still coursing through his veins made his heartbeat speed at the sight. Draco looked alive, the way that Harry did. For some reason, this was thrilling. Again, he quickly looked away before Draco caught him looking.

"Harry," began Draco, turning to face him, "do you have any idea what you want to do with your life?"

Harry blinked a few times, surprised by the question. He thought for a minute, but nothing but blankness came to mind. He shook his head. "I have no idea. I did want a family, of some sort–", he stopped, seeing the look on Draco's face. "Oh, not necessarily a wife and children, not yet!" Harry said, and he looked out across the bay, the water glinting in the sunlight. "Just somewhere to belong, with people who loved me. I... I thought I had it with the Weasleys, but with them I'm still a child, in some ways. In need of protection and feeding," he paused, remembering the grief-stricken household as he watched the shadows of clouds pass over houses and the lush green grass of the open countryside, "and I'm not really one of them, anyway. I think I need to make my own way as an adult first." He turned back to Draco. "What do you want?" he asked, softly.

Draco's face looked conflicted before he answered. Harry wondered what kind of internal battle he was fighting. There was a harder, cynical edge to him when he spoke. Harry wasn't sure if he liked it.

"What do I want? I can't have what I want," he said quietly, holding Harry's eyes for a moment before turning away. "I guess I want... something to believe in. Everything I've ever believed in my life is meaningless now. How... how can I trust anything again? How can I trust love again? My father loved me, but in the end it turned to anger and, I think, hatred. And... how can I trust myself?" The last question came out so quietly, the wind almost took it before it reached Harry's ears. But Harry did hear it. He reached out his hand, and rested it on Draco's arm. Draco looked back up at him.

"I trust you, Draco" he said, almost as quietly as Draco had spoken. "I've trusted you today. And I saw how brave you were at the trials. You should trust yourself more."

Draco pulled his arm away and laughed bitterly. "Brave? Me? I honestly don't know how you can sit there and say that." The haunted look had returned to his eyes, and Harry hated it. He took a deep breath.

"Look Draco, yesterday we agreed to leave the past behind us. And I don't know about you, but I had an _amazing_ morning. I actually felt... alive. And you, you are officially free. Free! So enough of your whining, and your self-pity. We're finally out of that miserable house, we're young, let's go and have some fun!"

Draco snorted. "Like you weren't wallowing in your own woes a minute or two ago, Harry!" Harry smiled, and elbowed him in the side. "That's more like it." They looked at each other for a moment.

"Potter," sneered Draco, in mock-disdain.

"Malfoy," returned Harry. There was a pause, and then they both burst out laughing, the moment of unhappiness forgotten. They balled up their greasy fish papers, and threw them in a nearby bin as they walked out of the park, high spirits restored.

oOo

After their lunch, with its tensions and resolution, neither was ready to go home yet, so they walked, side by side, through the narrow streets of the town. It felt good to be surrounded by so many people, so many Muggles, without needing to explain their nascent friendship or deal with their fame, or infamy, as it applied. They walked to an open common ground, which was fenced off with tall wire panels, held down in blocks of concrete. Inside were the flashing lights, loud noises and half-hidden hydraulics of a Muggle funfair. Instantly, Harry turned to Draco, eager to go in. "This was something _my_ family never let me do," he said, excited. Draco raised an eyebrow, and jingled his pocket full of change.

"Let's go in then."

Draco came away from the kiosk with a handful of tokens. As eager as children, they looked around for a place to start. They queued up for the small roller coaster. There was a gaggle of teen girls in front of them, giggling and chatting in high, quick voices which occasionally spilt over into laughter. They were clutching their tokens in their hands, and just as the last of them got to the front, she dropped one and they all watched it as it landed on the metal step to the ride, and rolled away into its grimy recesses. Her face fell, her youth suddenly outweighing her teen bravado. While Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for her, he was surprised when Draco stepped forward and pressed a token into her hand. She looked up and blushed, and Draco gave her a low bow, reminiscent of one of Kreacher's finest, making her blush even more. Her friends giggled as she quickly paid and whispered in her ear when she caught up with them. The girl went bright red as they all looked at Draco, the words 'Isn't he lovely,' accompanied by knowing winks as they climbed into their seats. Harry turned to Draco, and smiled. "How gallant," he said, and Draco flashed him a quick grin.

The ride was great, the feelings of rushing forward and dropping down familiar from their flying that morning. Yet the sound of mechanical ratcheting and rattling made the whole thing feel more precarious; as did their lack of control, of how fast and where they went. When they got off, both were laughing. Next, Harry insisted they try some candy floss, guessing that the sweet-toothed Draco would like it. He did, enthusiastically biting into it and tearing some off with his teeth, leaving behind dark wet crescents in the pink fluff.

They walked and talked and ate the tooth-rottingly sweet candy. "Poor Muggles," Draco said, "I bet that roly coaster is the closest any get to flying. But this stuff is _great_," he added, taking another bite. Harry was about to answer when someone bumped into him. He righted himself and muttered a quick "Sorry–", but he stopped in shock when he saw who it was.

There was an extended silence as they all stared at each other. Draco spoke first. "Theo? Theo Nott?", his voice shaky and his face suddenly completely white.

Theo didn't look much better. His gaze swung from Draco, to Harry, then back again. He had grown a little since Harry had last seen him, but was still a little weedy-looking with his thin, tall body. His face though, looked drawn, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. Theo's eyes narrowed. "You!" he spat at Draco. "How dare you walk freely, laughing. You ought to be rotting in Azkaban." Harry cast a quick _Muffliato_, even though it probably wasn't necessary over the noise of the fair. He really didn't want to have to explain this conversation to anyone, especially a Muggle. "You should be rotting and alone, like your precious father. And mine," Theo continued, bitterly. He looked Draco up and down. "The only Marked Death Eater to go free," he sneered. He turned his attention to Harry now, "out with the Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World. How... _interesting_," he leered.

His eyes swung back to Draco, and he drew his scrawny body up high. "I never liked you, Malfoy, always acting so superior, showing off your sweets and your broom and never shutting up about how wonderful your father was. With your stupid sycophants and your idiotic sidekicks, Merlin, you were _pathetic_. The joke of Slytherin," he glared at Draco.

"I couldn't understand how you walked free, but now I see it." Draco's face was red with anger, and he put out his arm as if to physically prevent Theo from continuing.

"Please," he begged, his hand stopping just short of touching Theo, "don't."

But Theo laughed, "Oh! He doesn't know, does he? Thinks he's just your friend, or he's saving you, or something mindless and Gryffindor like that." Draco trembled. His eyes were wide and he looked terrified, desperate.

"You always did have a thing about him, didn't you? The wonder-boy Potter," he looked at Harry, addressing his next question to him. "Did you ever wonder why Malfoy here would never leave you alone? Why he was the only person other than the Dark Lord stupid enough to actively annoy you, Dumbledore's Chosen One?" Harry just stared, frozen and confused. What on earth was Nott talking about?

"Please, no..." whispered Draco again, swaying as he stood. Tears were gathering in his eyes. Harry looked at him desperately. He didn't _understand._ What was the big secret?

"Little Drakey Wakey here, has been _pining_ after you for years, Potter. He used to say your name in his sleep. While he had _a certain kind _of dream," he smirked. "There's not much you can hide when you sleep in a room full of Slytherins."

"No!" said Harry, taking a step backwards in shock. But one glance at Draco, his head hanging, his cheeks aflame, eyes filling, was enough to confirm it. "Draco?" Harry asked, in a whisper. Reluctantly, Draco raised his head and met Harry's eyes.

"Sorry, Harry," he said in a small voice. His eyes held Harry's for a moment longer, then he turned away. Harry's mind was a whirling blur of confused thoughts, none of which were clear enough to actually form words.

"When I saw you just now, my first instinct was to hex you. I just wanted you to _hurt_. And then I wanted to expose you for what you really are. A miserable and backstabbing failure of a man, of a Death Eater. But this," and here Theo smiled gleefully, "this is so much better." He looked between Harry and Draco and laughed. "Nice seeing you, boys," he said, and before either of them could respond or stop him, he walked off, whistling.

Harry stared after his retreating form for a moment. He turned back to Draco, who was still shaking, his shoulders bowed. "Draco," said Harry, but Draco wouldn't look up. When he spoke, his voice was low, but full of barely-constrained emotion. "I can't–" he said, closing his eyes and holding his fists tight by his sides as he tried to control himself. He dragged his eyes up to meet Harry's. "I meant every word I've said to you since I moved into Grimmauld Place," he said, looking away. "Goodbye, Harry," he whispered, and half walked, half ran into the nearest dark corner between rides.

"Draco, stop!" called out Harry. "Wait!" but Draco ignored him. Then Harry saw the glint of metal as Draco took out the Portkey and disappeared.

Harry was left, alone and confused, with people milling all around him. The loud klaxons and music which just a few minutes ago had seemed fun and exciting, were now jarring, a cacophony of sound. On the ground beneath his feet, Draco's half-eaten candy floss lay discarded. It had all been so fast, Harry didn't understand what had happened. He stood for a few minutes, unsure of how to get home. He didn't even know where he was, which sea it was he'd flown above that morning. Then he remembered how they'd got the brooms home. He couldn't summon Kreacher in such a busy place, so he wearily retraced his steps back to the woods at the outskirts of town. As he walked, he went over every word Theo had said, in his head, trying to make sense of it all.

oOo

When he was finally back home, Harry ran up the stairs, looking for Draco. He stopped when he got to Draco's room. The door was open. He stepped inside, wanting to see Draco there but knowing deep down that the room would be empty. It was. It looked the same as the last time Harry had seen it: neat and tidy, the bed made, nothing out to show it was occupied. But this time, it felt empty. There was no little bag on the side. He was too late.

Harry sat down on the bed. It was warmer here than it had been in Ireland, and he discarded his jacket. He was so confused. Draco _liked_ him? Or he had. No, he wouldn't have run unless... Harry was shocked. How could he not have noticed? But he really hadn't seen it, at all. He thought of Draco in the moonlight, or sitting by the fire confessing his secrets. He flushed remembering how he'd watched Draco, thought of touching his soft skin. He didn't understand. Had it been real? Had those conversations meant something else? What was he supposed to do now? He'd finally begun to feel that he might be able to find a way to be happy in life, but now it had all fallen away.

oOo

Harry sent an owl to Draco, meaningless words just to check if he was ok, but got no reply. He tried fire calling the Manor once, but their Floo was closed now. He debated going back there, but if Draco had cut off the Floo connection and wasn't answering owls, he obviously didn't want to talk to or see Harry. Harry gave up, and retreated into silence, back to his earlier routine of eating, sitting, sleeping. Except now he didn't go out. He couldn't bear to return to the Heath, and any other idea he had felt empty and ashen. The weather became intensely hot, but Harry remained inside, hidden in the stifling gloom of the house. In the days which followed, he neither look for Draco, nor heard from him again.


	7. Responsibilities Remembered

**A/N:** Apologies straight off here; there's no Draco in this chapter. :(

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Responsibilities remembered**

_August_

"Harry, Harry! We're back!" called Ron. "Maybe he's out," he said, turning to Hermione. At that moment, Kreacher appeared.

"Kreacher!" said Hermione and moved forwards as if to embrace him. He recoiled, stepping back, his eyes wide. "It's good to see you, Kreacher," she said gently, smiling. "Is Harry here?" He eyed her warily and held himself back nervously. He looked at them both and nodded, then pointed upstairs.

"Thank you," Ron said, and they put their bags down and made their way upstairs. When they were halfway up the flight of stairs, Harry appeared at the top. His hair was dishevelled, and there were creases in his cheeks. He smiled sleepily when he saw them.

"Ron, 'Mione!" he yawned. He came down the stairs and met them in a hug. Hermione pulled back and wrinkled her nose.

"Ew, Harry, when did you last have a shower?"

Harry dropped his arms and looked a little sheepish. "Sorry," he mumbled, "there didn't seem much point when I wasn't going anywhere. Besides," and he yawned again, "you just woke me up."

"At one o'clock in the afternoon? Harry," said Hermione, her voice full of reproach and shaking her head. Harry looked over at Ron, hoping for a bit of support. Ron shrugged his shoulders, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Sorry mate, but you are a bit ripe," he said. Then he broke out in a wide smile. "It's good to see you though. We'll go downstairs for a cup of tea, you go have a shower, then we can talk properly."

As Harry made his way back up to the bathroom, he could hear Ron saying "Honestly 'Mione, did you have to be so... direct?", and Hermione's snort in answer. He smiled to himself. It was great that they were back. He had a quick shower, dressed and hurried downstairs to see them.

When he got to the kitchen, Kreacher had made a pot of tea and a huge plate of bacon sandwiches. His stomach rumbling, Harry unapologetically reached for a plate and put two sandwiches on it. He picked up the glass bottle of tomato sauce, turned it upside down and gave it a few firm taps, then added ketchup to his sandwiches. He sat back and started to eat. Bliss. As if given permission to join in, Ron made himself a plate too. Hermione rolled her eyes, but pinched one of Ron's sandwiches anyway.

As Harry ate, Hermione kept up a constant stream of commentary, filling him in on what she and Ron had been up to.

"...and we were so lucky to have Healer Li to help us, she knew so much about memory charms and the mind. My parents are ok now, more or less. It was a struggle for them to integrate their old recovered memories with the new ones they'd made, but in the end I think we got there." Harry felt huge relief that Hermione had been able to reverse her _Obliviation_. He couldn't imagine what the past few months had been like for her. He held onto her forearm for a moment and smiled, his eyes sad but warm with friendship.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, quietly.

"So, Harry, what have you been up to? Sorry we couldn't make it back for your birthday, did you have an ok day?" asked Ron through a mouthful of bacon. Harry laughed. It was good to be together again.

"I've been out a few times. I went flying the other day – Kreacher found Sirus' old broom," Harry paused, uncertain of how to broach the subject of Draco's presence over the past month or so. "And, er, Draco Malfoy was staying here for a while."

There was a heavy clunk as Ron put his mug of tea down.

"I don't understand," said Hermione, looking puzzled.

"Well, he ran away from home, and Kingsley asked him to testify against his father and the other Death Eaters. Kingsley felt this was safest place for him to stay," said Harry, neatly skipping the fact that he'd been to the Manor, or that he'd invited Draco to stay.

"He was here during the trials?" asked Hermione, looking up sharply at him. Harry nodded.

"Yes, but we hardly spoke. Kingsley put a Taboo on any mention of the trial."

"And you didn't kill each other? Wow," said Ron, his eyes wide and fixed on Harry.

"Yeah, well, he was pretty... sad, when he got here. We just left each other alone, mostly. Actually–", and here Harry paused, checking his friends' faces for their reactions as he continued, "–he's not that bad. By the time he left I... I quite liked him." Harry sighed. "But I don't think we'll be seeing him again. He..." he trailed off, uncertain of how he could describe how or why Draco had left. It was... personal.

Hermione was frowning. When she spoke, it was very gently.

"Did he talk about... what he'd done, at all?" she asked, and Harry knew what she was asking. He looked down, remembering sad eyes.

"Yeah, a bit, after the trials. I think he's sorry for what he did."

"But he's gone now?"

"We– we bumped into Theo Nott. He said some things... he was cruel to Draco. I think it scared him off. I don't know where he went, but he's not here anymore."

"Draco?" asked Ron. Harry looked up and smiled a crooked little half-smile.

"When you share bathroom with someone, it seems only polite to call them by their first name." Ron accepted this explanation with a thoughtful nod.

Hermione was quiet, while Ron and Harry moved on to talking about Quidditch, Harry not having followed the sport at all over the summer. Ron got quite excited about the Cannons, who had recently won against Kestrels, and soon had a collection of cutlery, mugs, and the sauce bottle standing in for players as he described their last game.

When the Quidditch chat had died down a little, Hermione began to talk about their plans for the future. Harry fidgeted in his chair, uncomfortable about the topic.

"So we're going to Hogsmeade, to help rebuild Hogwarts. It's already well under way, but there's still lots to be done. I've owled Professor McGonagall, and she's said we can help. I know we can go back when it opens if we want, to take the year we missed, but I'm not sure yet if I want to. A lot's happened since we were last at school. I will take my NEWTs though, one way or another. After the school opens, we'll either go there or we'll... we'll probably end up getting a place together," she said, blushing.

"Mum won't be too pleased if we do," added Ron, "but there's not much she can do now we're of age," he shrugged and grinned. "Besides, I've spent more time living with Hermione over the past year than I have at home." Hermione shot him an affectionate look.

"What about you, Harry, what are you going to do?" asked Hermione.

Harry looked miserable. "I don't know. I did write a list..." he stopped. He hadn't thought about his list since Draco had arrived. Harry frowned. "Maybe I should have another look at it. And I hadn't thought about NEWTs, or a job, or anything like that."

"Harry, you need to do something. You can't stay in this... mausoleum forever, doing nothing." Harry looked guilty at her choice of words. That was more or less what he _had_ been doing. "You need to think about what you want in life, and what your responsibilities are. If we want to be treated as adults, we need to _act _like adults."

Harry sighed. Hermione, as usual, was right.

oOo

In the end, Harry decided to join Ron and Hermione in Hogsmeade. He did need to get away from number twelve. It was a depressing place, and although he didn't say it, he kept thinking of Draco, each room full of reminders of their time together, and he needed to get away from that too. They took some rooms at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was back behind the bar downstairs, seemingly recovered from her time under Draco's Imperius curse. Harry felt conflicting emotions when he saw her: happiness that she was ok, and a confused unhappiness at the thought of all the dark deeds in Draco's past. It was one thing talking about them, another to see a living reminder.

On his first day in Hogsmeade, Harry suddenly panicked about going out. He was so used to hiding away, or only going out in Muggle areas, that the thought of being exposed in such a wizarding place terrified him. In the end an exasperated Ron and Hermione left to go up to the castle, leaving Harry to mope in his room. He was surprised when after an hour or so, there was a loud knock at the door. He was even more surprised when he opened the door to find a stern-looking Professor McGonagall standing on the small landing.

"Harry," she said, her words as clipped and efficient as ever.

"Professor, I– please, come in," Harry stepped back and ushered her into the room. There was only one chair, so he offered it to her and sat on the edge of his bed. Luckily as it was only his first day there the room was still tidy, not a stray sock to be seen.

"Please, call me Minerva," she paused, saw the look on Harry's face, and sighed, "or Headmistress if you must." Harry smiled weakly.

"Thank you, Headmistress," McGonagall looked at him thoughtfully and shook her head.

"Is it that difficult to think of me as just another person?"

"It's not that, Prof– Headmistress, it's just... I haven't decided what I want to do about my NEWTs or a job or whatever yet, and if I come back to school..."

"Ah, I see. Well in that case, may I commend you for your prudent thinking." Harry flushed a little and looked down.

"Harry," she said gently, and Harry looked up to meet her clear, sharp gaze. "Your friends asked me to come and talk to you today," Harry nodded, having guessed as much. "They... they want you to be happy," and her face softened with fondness. "But I'm speaking to you today because I wanted to. There are lots of students who have come back to help us rebuild, past and present. It has been heartening. One of them though, is not here by his own volition, although I would like to believe that given the choice he would have found his way here anyway," she narrowed her eye slightly. "I have had several enlightening conversations with Draco since he started helping here." At the sound of Draco's name, Harry's attention became totally fixed on McGonagall. He felt his heart start to beat a little faster. "You have good friends, Harry, but you have also been a good friend, to someone who really needed one."

"He's here?" asked Harry, hope flaring in him. It fell away as McGonagall shook her head. "No, he has helped, and will continue to do so, but it has been safer for him not to join the general work crews," she paused and looked out of the window, before looking back. "You really were exceptional in welcoming, and forgiving him. As your former Head of House I want you to know that I'm proud of you."

Harry felt warmth wash through him at her words. And regret, that things had been left the way they were with Draco. Since his friends had returned he had allowed himself to get caught up in their lives and concerns, and shut away the confusion he'd felt since Nott's revelation and Draco's dramatic departure.

McGonagall looked serious as she sat quietly, regarding him with bright eyes. She seemed timeless, but at the same time her years of experience were clear too. She looked wise.

"Harry, I know that your friends have their plans, their own hopes and dreams. But you need to work out what _you_ want, not what anyone else wants. If being here, with all the memories, all the attention, isn't the right thing for you, that's fine. Take your time. Think, talk to people, go for walks: whatever helps you," she paused, and Harry felt she was trying to choose the best words to convey whatever she wanted to say next.

"It may not feel like it now, but you're lucky. You've got the luxury of having the space to work all this out. You've already faced more than many people have had to, but you haven't had the same opportunities for the smaller things in life that most people enjoy. Find your balance now, find where you fit in, between the big things and the small things."

McGonagall stood up, smoothing her robes. Harry stood too. There were tears in her eyes as she held his hand, like an old friend, and said "I want you to be happy, I think you can be. Go find your happiness." She made her way to the door, and turned to face him as she before she opened it. "If you want, we can walk back up to the school together, just to see how it is now. But if it's too soon, you don't have to. It's up to you, Harry."

Harry stood, blinking and overwhelmed by her words. He was reminded of Dumbledore. He looked at her, awed. "You really are the Headmistress," he whispered. He knew she understood what he meant as he saw the flash of surprise on her face.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, softly.

"Goodbye, Headmistress, and thank you. I... I have some thinking to do."

"Goodbye, Harry," she said in return, and quietly let herself out.

Harry picked his bag off the floor and sat down on the bed. He had to take everything out (although still pathetic as a collection of belongings), but there, at the bottom was his list. He unfolded it, the creases soft. He took a deep breath, and then he looked at it. He took the same, chewed old pen he had used to write it from the side pocket of his bag, and looked at the list, critically. He made two decisive, final marks on the page.

_Harry's to do list_

_Find Kreacher._

_Work out where to live_

_Visit the families of the dead_

_Return Malfoy's wand._

_See Teddy._

He hadn't really got that far, in the past few months. Perhaps he needed to start by remembering the other people who had been touched by the war. It wasn't just him who'd had life turned upside down by Voldemort, by war, by death. He sat there a long time, thinking and remembering. He needed to finish this, and then he would try to find his balance. He hoped he could find happiness, too.

oOo

The house was in a quiet street, sandwiched between two others in the short terrace between two side-streets. The walls were a soft yellow brick, and even from the outside you could see that it was a cosy, well-loved home. The door was painted a cheery red, and a window was open on the warm summer's evening. Harry took a deep breath and knocked, twice. The door was opened by a short, pretty woman, in her late thirties or early forties. She gasped when she saw Harry. "Harry Potter?" she asked, and quickly pulled him in.

Harry sat in the small sitting room. Mr and Mrs Creevey sat together on the sofa, and Dennis perched on the arm. The tv had gone off as soon as he'd walked in, and Dennis had insisted onto at Harry took his seat in the narrow armchair in the corner. A cat had brushed its body against his legs a few times, then leapt into his lap. Harry found the warm weight comforting, and was running the fingers of one hand through the soft fur over and over again as he balanced his tea on the armrest with the other. They all had cups of tea, and there was a plate of biscuits on the side table next to Harry. There were photos in frames, on the walls and in a display cabinet in the corner. They were all Muggle photos, and Harry had a lump in his throat, seeing the three with pride of place on the mantelpiece: one was of Colin, one of Dennis and Colin, arms round each other and grinning, looking ready to leap away in their enthusiasm, and finally, one of Colin and Harry, together.

As the cat purred, he spoke to them, quietly, about his memories of Colin. He told them about Colin's enthusiasm, his friendliness, and finally, his bravery. They, in return, told Harry of how excited he'd been to start at Hogwarts, to discover that he was a wizard. Harry drank his tea, and ate two biscuits. He looked at several photo albums. When he left, it was that time between day and dusk when the light seems brighter, yet soft, and the world seems to hold its breath. Mr Creevey gripped his arm, and thanked Harry for coming. As Harry walked away, he was lost in his memories of a short, brown-haired boy. He wished he had a messy garden and Draco to return to, to talk to about his visit. But instead, he returned to the Three Broomsticks, and Ron and Hermione.

All Harry wanted to do was hide away in his room, but he ended up going downstairs with his friends. He had been avoiding the public areas of the Three Broomsticks, wary of other people's reactions to him. He felt his anxiety levels rise when he realised that Luna and Neville were sitting at a table in the corner, waiting for them. After McGonagall's visit Hermione and Ron had reluctantly accepted that Harry wasn't going to be working alongside them: Harry suspected McGonagall had also had a chat with them, too. He wasn't sure though how his other friends would take his absence from Hogwarts.

Neville however, greeted Harry with a warm smile and a lack of questions which instantly put Harry at ease. Luna and Hermione launched straight into a detailed and convoluted conversation about spells for moving statues back into their original positions: apparently when McGonagall had animated them for the Battle they had eventually come to a halt in strange places and stranger positions. The challenge was to get them back to a fairly 'normal' stance without having them run off again. The two women had been working on this for a few days and soon lost Harry in some of their discussion of magical theory.

Ron and Neville went to the bar with their orders, and Harry sat quietly just listening, not really in the mood for talking. When they arrived back with drinks, the conversation moved on, and Harry was told all about how the rebuild in general was going. After a while there was a lull in the chatter around the table, and Luna turned to Harry.

"So what about you, Harry, what have you been up to?" she asked.

Harry forced himself to answer, although he just wanted to hide away. Quietly, he told them about seeing the Creeveys.

"Well done, Harry", whispered Hermione.

''He was really brave, last year,'' said Neville, and Luna nodded enthusiastically.

"And him and his camera!" said Ron. They sat, reminiscing about Colin, and then the other fallen of Hogwarts. After a while Harry realised that the rest of the pub had gone quiet, that others were listening in. He was proud of his friends, both the ones there and the ones who were no longer with them. A round of drinks were delivered to their table, and they led the room in a toast to their old friends.

People came over to talk to them, and soon the room was buzzing, as small groups broke back off. With the noise came a modicum of privacy again, as people's attention came off Harry and his friends. Having everything focused on them had not been as bad as Harry had feared it would be, but he still relaxed when it had lessened.

"You'll never guess who we saw today," said Neville. Luna looked on expectantly, obviously already knowing the answer, but the others shook their heads, curious.

"Malfoy," Neville announced. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"He was here?" Harry asked, a little too quickly. For a second he thought that maybe he should be helping with the rebuild, if it meant he could bump into Draco. He looked around him, nervous that the others might have picked up on his question and his eagerness. Ron was the only one looking at him, but he wore a look of understanding on his face.

"I think he's changed, a bit," said Ron. "What was he like today?" Harry was grateful to Ron for deflecting the attention away from him, and for saying something nice about Draco.

"He seemed ok," shrugged Neville, "a bit quiet, actually. Nothing like he used to be."

"He apologised to me," added Luna. "He... told me some things, about his parents. I think Neville's right, I think he's changed."

Hermione also looked at Harry thoughtfully. "You said the same, didn't you Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"I saw that photo of you talking to him at the end of his trial," said Luna, "I didn't understand how you could bear to talk to him like that, but now I've spoken to him, I think I do."

"It's good that you could move past your history with him, Harry," said Hermione,"I think the rest of the wizarding world needed to see that." Neville looked unsure, but Ron nodded in agreement.

The conversation spun off into talk of the trials, then speculation about who was going to enter Auror training. Harry found himself detaching from the others again, not as interested in the idea of being an Auror as he had been before.

Instead, he found himself talking quietly to Luna about Draco.

"He said sorry, and he seemed so... subdued. I wasn't supposed to see him, he's been working on some of the internal repairs, away from the rest of the students. I heard there was a... problem on his first day." Harry felt his heart clench in worry.

"Was he hurt?" he asked, concerned. Luna looked at him, her big wide eyes either thoughtful or dreaming.

"Maybe," she said, "I don't know. But today he was almost kind to me. He said sorry, and I told him his Wrackspurts were obviously affecting his mood. He told me he must get them from his mother,'' her dreamy eyes hardened, for a moment. ''He told me he'd run away, before the trials," she blinked. "I think he was lonely, he just needed someone to talk to.'' Harry looked away. He found the idea that Draco was lonely upsetting, as much as the thought that he might have been hurt was a second ago. When he turned back he couldn't help but try to find out if Draco had talked about him.

"Did he mention that he had been staying with me?" asked Harry, quietly. Luna nodded.

"You know, Harry, I got the impression today that there's something unfinished hanging between you and Malfoy," said Luna, her elbows on the table and her fingers interlaced, and her chin resting on her hands. "It's almost as if... did you two really become friends?"

Harry didn't want to be having this conversation, but he knew there was no running away from Luna. After her experience at Malfoy Manor, the least she deserved was the truth.

"Yes," he nodded. "Sort of, just about. I think we could have become good friends, actually," he shrugged, "not many people have been through as much as we have." He sighed, before adding quietly, "It was... good, talking to him."

At this point he realised that Hermione was now listening to the conversation. She played with a beer mat, not looking directly at them. He wasn't saying anything she didn't know already, so he continued regardless. "It doesn't matter too much now, he... got scared and ran away."

"You always had a strange connection with him, Harry," said Luna. "I always thought that," and Harry shifted, uncomfortable at the echoes of Nott's words.

Hermione had looked up sharply at what Luna had said, and exchanged a glance with her. Then Harry found two pairs of brightly focused eyes on him, leaving him feeling exposed.

"I see an increased level of Wrackspurts in your life, as well as Malfoy's, Harry," said Luna airily, "they confuse but also make things easier to see." Hermione cleared her throat, never that at ease with some of Luna's theories. But she didn't say anything. They sat quietly for a minute. "You need to work out what you want, Harry, and then they will stop confusing you."

Hermione still looked a little sceptical, but she was serious when she spoke.

"Harry, however you describe it, Luna's right, you need to work out what you want," she sighed, "I just want you to be happy. Whatever you find out, whatever you decide, I don't mind, as long as you're happy." She gave his arm a quick squeeze, and fixed him with a warm smile.

As Luna nodded in agreement, Harry was grateful for their support, although he still wasn't sure what he wanted, and was under the impression that his two friends were trying to send him some deeper message, one that he didn't understand.

"Thanks," he said,"I'm still trying to figure it all out. I'll let you know when I work out what I want, what I need, to make me happy."

Ron had got quite merry by this point, having had quite a few drinks that evening. The last time Harry had noticed him, he had been talking loudly to Neville. But then he saw Neville walking off towards the bar. Ron turned to Harry, and gave him a wide, drunken smile.

"What you need, Harry," he said, "is love," and he looked over at Hermione, open admiration on his face. "It's the best thing, ever. Take it from me," and he winked. Hermione laughed and hit his arm playfully.

"Enough of that!"

They all laughed and the conversation moved on, but in the back of his mind Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron, that all he needed was, indeed, love.

oOo

Harry knew he was ready. This time, he didn't knock at the front door, but walked round to the back. He pushed open the kitchen door, and found Molly sitting at the table. She looked up, and, too quick for thought, her face broke into a warm, genuine smile. She jumped up and swept him up into a hug. He relaxed into her soft, all-encompassing embrace. They stood there together for a long moment, as he accepted the comfort she had to offer, then Molly let him go. She held his face with one hand and looked at him.

"I know it got to be too much for you, I understand why you left. But you are one of us, no matter what your name is or what colour your hair," Harry laughed. "You do know," she said seriously, "that we love you, I hope." Harry nodded. "Good," she said, and that was that.

Harry stayed and helped her cook dinner, and was greeted with affection by George and Arthur when they got in. They sat together and talked about Fred. And for the first time, Harry felt he got to know him. There was sadness yes, but it wasn't quite as raw as before, although still powerful. But they smiled as they remembered their son, their twin, and this time Harry did not feel like he was on the outside.

"Don't run away again, Harry," said Arthur as they stood side by side, looking out over the fields. "You're family, and we don't want to lose anyone else." Harry nodded. He knew now that he could come back whenever he wanted, but that they didn't expect anything more than that. He didn't have to be with Ginny or have any special insight into what they were thinking or feeling. He just had to be himself. It was a liberating thought.

Harry felt a sense of peace descend. He had a sort of home here, one he could return to for peace and acceptance. He knew he needed to find his own space, but he felt that a small hole, deep inside, had been filled.

Arthur headed back inside, and Harry sat on the old bench and enjoyed the warmth it gave off, the residual warmth of the day. He thought of Draco's story of the little tree who longed to dream. Today felt like the long winter's dream of the tree. He felt like finally he could share the feeling of love and family that other people took for granted.

Harry closed his eyes. He could see Draco, strained, telling the story his mother had told him as a child. His face was pale and beautiful in the moonlight. Harry didn't know what to think about Draco. He was confused. He had thought Draco had hated him for years, and yet, apparently, he had felt something else. Or both together, attraction and resentment, all at once.

He searched his memory for any clue to Draco's... interest in him. The closeness that had been slowly growing between them, the sharing of the personal stories from his past, the self-hatred Draco had shown every now and then: all could, he supposed be taken as signs of deeper feelings. And then Harry remembered asking Draco what he wanted, and Draco looking straight at him as he said _I can't have what I want_.

Then Harry sat back and took out one of the memories tucked furthest at the back. Draco's soft skin, sleep-warmed. He thought about what it meant that he had wanted to touch it every time he saw it. He thought about how he missed Draco. He missed the way he felt alive when they were together. He missed talking to Draco. He missed the feeling of sharing his time with him.

Harry had been too busy worrying about Voldemort to really think about anything else, the past few years. But now, complex feelings swirling, he was forced to acknowledge that perhaps he couldn't just leave things the way they were with Draco. Perhaps he needed to see him again, to work out how he really felt about him. About men. Perhaps pale skin and sad eyes fascinated him more than soft curves and gentle smiles ever had.

As Harry went up to sleep in the violent orange of Ron's room, he felt too big for the old familiar room. He realised that he wasn't a child anymore. He was a man, now. That night, he dreamed of unbuttoning a shirt, one button at a time, to reveal the smooth white skin below, a line of golden hairs sinking out of sight.

oOo

The next day, Harry left the Weasleys, and Apparated straight to the gates of Malfoy Manor. He needed to see Draco, he needed some answers. Even if Draco wasn't here, Narcissa would know where he was. He was dismayed though, to see the gate half-ajar. The grass inside was long, weeds growing high. With a sense of unease, Harry walked up the long path to the house. It was hot, the sun high in the sky. Clouds of midges hung over the garden, and by the time Harry reached the front door he had been bitten and was hot, sweaty and itchy. He knocked on the door, but no one came. He waited a long time before accepting that the house was, indeed, deserted.

Harry sat on the steps leading up to the door. He didn't know what to do now, where to look. He had lost Draco, all over again. And this time, he couldn't ignore the way it felt, a pain deep in his gut. He ached to see Draco. He wanted to see him how he actually was, now the truth of his feelings had been revealed. How would a conversation between the two of them be, without hiding behind a lie? Harry wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that maybe, maybe, it would be good. He wanted to be able to find out for himself.

As the sun moved across the sky, Harry thought about Draco. How long had Harry been watching him? Why had he been so obsessed? Remembering the vague details of his dream from the night before was enough to awaken feelings in Harry's body which he had ignored for a very long time. He gave into despair. He had come close to happiness, but it had escaped him.


	8. Answers

**A/N: **First of all, thanks for all the lovely comments and reviews last week. I just want to say that I start to ease the brakes on the angst in this chapter. I'm writing the epilogue at the moment, and without giving too much away I think it's fair to say that from this point on we head into flangst territory, and the beginnings of that M rating... (don't get your hopes up too high for this chapter now! Um, I suck at this A/N business). Anyway, this is one of my favourite chapters. I hope you like it too. :)

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**Chapter 8 - Answers**

_September_

The wind was making the trees sing. The white bark of slender silver birch trees rose under the moving canopy of leaves. Harry stopped for a minute to just stand and listen. The breeze on his cheeks was welcome after the past few hot weeks, back in the stuffy house in London. He opened the gate next to the sign for 'Woodshade Cottage', and walked up the path. The cottage was small, with a window either side of the front door. Although he had arranged the visit a few days before, he still felt nervous. He had left seeing Teddy almost until last. This was the child of his friends. They should have been there to greet him, Tonks with her energy and bright hair, Remus with his tired face and kind, intelligent eyes. Instead, an elegant woman opened the door, a warm smile on her face.

"Harry," she said, holding out her hand, "welcome." Harry took her hand and shook it, smiling.

"Mrs Tonks, thank you for being able to see me," he said, with feeling. When he'd owled, her response had been polite and swift, and had done a lot to ease Harry's guilt about not having got in touch sooner. Although they'd met at Remus and Tonks' funeral, they hadn't really spoken, and both had been more than a little distracted anyway.

"Please, call me Andromeda," she said as she ushered him in. Up close, Harry felt a moment of disorientation, as she looked a little like both her sisters. Unlike them though, she appeared neither mad nor overly cold. She was weathered but warm, her hair white, and cut short, her robes simple.

Stepping through the tiny hall and into the room, Harry looked around for some sign of Teddy. Andromeda shook her head. "He's asleep upstairs," she said. "It's nap time, but he'll be up soon enough. Time for us to have a cup of tea though." Harry tried to hide his disappointment. He followed her through a low doorway into the kitchen, a busy room with an oak table at its centre, chairs and a bench surrounding it. She put the kettle on and gestured for him to sit down. He sat on one of the chairs and waited for her to join him.

There was a picture of Tonks on the wall. She was young – maybe Harry's age – and was laughing. "It's one of my favourites," said Andromeda quietly, standing to look at it for a moment before sitting down, a teapot, tea cups and saucers, a milk jug and sugar bowl hovering behind her patiently. She brought them to the table with a flick of her wand. "She had just finished at Hogwarts and been accepted onto Auror training. She was so happy, "I like to have pictures of her around me, I think it's good for Teddy too. There are photos of Remus, too." Harry nodded, remembering how much it had meant to him when Hagrid had given him the photo album of his parents.

"He'll always love them, you know," he said.

"Thank you," she smiled, and poured the tea out. "Milk? Sugar?"

"You're... you're not what I was expecting," said Harry. She raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, that's probably not what I'm supposed to say," he added, embarrassed to have blurted out his first thought at meeting her.

"You mean, having met my sisters," she said. Harry nodded, feeling stupid. "It's ok Harry, in the case of Bella I'll take that as a compliment. As for Cissy," she sighed, "that's a bit more complicated. But don't worry about it."

They sat sitting for a moment, sipping their tea. Harry pulled out a small package from his pocket and set it down on the table. "It's a gift for Teddy," he said. Pulling out his wand he unshrank it. The paper wrapping it slipped off, revealing a mobile with a sun, a moon, a tree, an owl, and a small songbird. He held it up and tapped it with his wand, and the bird sang gently while he owl hooted, and they spun and danced with the sun and moon, around the tree at the centre.

"How perfect!" said Andromeda, "The Little Tree who Wanted to Dream." Harry was pleased she recognised the story. As soon as he had seen it in the shop window, he had known he wanted to get it for Teddy. "I remember my mother telling me the story when I was a girl, sitting by the window with my cousins, looking out at the trees behind their house," with a start, Harry realised that she was talking about Grimmauld Place and that Draco's mother had probably learnt the story at the same time.

"I'm living there, at Grimmauld Place, at the moment, with Kreacher," he told her.

She smiled. "Are those awful house-elf heads still there?" she asked.

"Yes, I don't quite know what to do with them," Harry grimaced. It seemed wrong to throw away or banish someone's head.

"And is Kreacher still his cheerful self?"

Harry laughed. "He has his moments, but it's ok," he shrugged, "it's just a bit lonely, just the two of us rattling around that big old house."

Harry forgot what he was going to say next when he heard the sound of a baby's cry coming from upstairs. Andromeda got up, but didn't go to get Teddy. Harry suddenly understood when the kitchen door swung open and Draco walked in holding Teddy.

Draco froze when he saw Harry. Harry felt panic rising in his chest. He had no idea what to do now.

Andromeda quickly crossed the room and neatly scooped Teddy out of Draco's arms. Teddy was holding his head up, his soft, rounded face open as he looked at her. She kissed him on the top of his head. "Tea, Draco?" she asked, as she sat down with Teddy on her knee. His arms, a little uncoordinated, batted away at the air.

Draco was looking at the floor. He tore himself away from the doorway, sat down to Harry's left, opposite Andromeda, and summoned a cup and saucer to pour himself some tea. Harry felt his relief that Draco was safe mingle with absolute terror about what would happen now. Draco still wouldn't meet his eyes, but Harry couldn't stop looking at him. His hair had grown a bit, just reaching past his collar. It fell across his eyes, and Harry watched as Draco raised a hand to move it out of his face. His eyes were still sad, and when he eventually turned them to Harry they made him catch his breath. Draco made him catch his breath. Harry fought with a sudden pounding of his heart; he couldn't breath, there wasn't enough air.

"Did I not mention that Draco was staying here?" said Andromeda, and Harry turned to look at her. She was calmly playing with Teddy, but Harry got the impression that she was less than innocent in having not told him that Draco was there. When he looked back at Draco, he was glaring at his aunt.

"It must have slipped your mind, Aunt Dromeda, just as you neglected to tell me we were expecting a visitor."

She smiled serenely. "Now, Harry. Would you like to have a cuddle with your godson?" and she stood up, and walked over to Harry, Teddy on her hip. She handed over the warm, wriggling boy, and Harry found himself with a baby on his lap. He held him awkwardly, but Teddy seemed pretty resilient and didn't break or cry, so Harry persevered and tried to relax a little. Harry held Teddy up and smiled at him, and was rewarded with a broad smile back. He sat him back on his lap, and Draco quietly passed his cousin a toy. Teddy held onto the small giraffe, chewing away with his toothless gums.

The presence of the baby, his little body a comforting weight, helped distract Harry and he was able to force himself to ignore Draco, concentrating on Teddy and Andromeda instead.

"He's lovely," he said, beaming a smile at Andromeda. Her face was fond as she looked at him, and Harry had a strange sense that he was with family, even though they'd never really met before and weren't actually related.

Harry played with Teddy a while, then Andromeda opened the back door and quietly took the baby back. He sat on her lap, looked at the trees swaying and shadows flickering outside, and laughed.

Harry looked back at Draco, who was watching him, just him. Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he couldn't look away. Andromeda cleared her throat, loudly.

"Draco dear, could you pass me Teddy's giraffe, please?" she asked. Draco started, but bent down to pick the giraffe from where it had fallen to the ground. As he did so, he brushed past Harry's arm. Draco was warm, and Harry felt heat burn into his arm. Even after Draco had moved around the table and presented the toy to little, greedy, fat hands, Harry could still feel the brush of Draco's arm on his. His mind stuttered to a halt for a second, and when he became aware of things again, Andromeda was talking.

"—so we've all been a little cramped, but it's home and Teddy is happy. And I enjoy having the company," Harry nodded in response, not really ready for words yet. His arm was still tingling, his cheeks were still burning.

"More tea?" Andromeda asked, and soon the teapot was dipping at all their cups again. She summoned a tin of biscuits, which turned out to be full of uneven, delicious, oat cookies, wonderfully crisp and chewy and obviously homemade.

"When I married Ted, I had to to learn to cope without house elves. You should have seen my early attempts at cooking! He, being Muggle-born, was more familiar with it all. To be honest though, after living with his parents and then at Hogwarts, he was nearly as useless as me," she paused, a look of fond remembrance in her eyes. "But we learned, and now here I am, thirty years later, with a baby again." This time her eyes returned to Tonks, smiling and laughing in the photo, and her eyes dimmed a little. There was a silence, during which Harry or Draco should probably have said something, but neither did. They were both avoiding looking at each other, but Harry could sense exactly where Draco was in the room. He could hear every creak of his chair, each sip he took of his tea. The air was heavy with the tension of their unspoken conversation.

Harry was distracted by Teddy's face going red and a rather obvious noise filling the room, and Andromeda looked up and smiled at him.

"Ah," she said, "this one needs changing, I think," and she stood with Teddy and turned to leave the room. "I'll just leave you two boys to catch up," and she left the room.

"I tried to find you," said Harry, finally. Draco looked up, one of his dark, introspective looks on his face. "I missed you," Harry whispered. "Grimmauld Place is lonely without you there."

The look on Draco's face lifted a little at Harry's words, but his eyes were vulnerable as he started to speak.

"I just– what Nott said, I—"

"It's ok," interrupted Harry. "I think he was right about one thing. There always has been something between us," he sighed. "Even Luna said something similar the other day."

"That's not what he was saying, Harry, and you know it," said Draco, with a hint of challenge in his voice. Harry swallowed. There was not going to be an easy way to avoid this.

"I've spent the past few weeks thinking about what he said. I– I had no idea, Draco," he said softly, and Draco turned away, looking stung. Harry felt desperate. He was just making this worse.

"I want to be honest with you, Draco. I do—"

The door swung back open and Andromeda walked in with Teddy. She stopped and looked between the two men, a speculative look on her face.

"I'm going to take Teddy out to look at the trees," she announced. "You stay here and finish your chat." She picked up a small cardigan which was hanging off the back of a chair, skillfully dressed Teddy in it, and went out of the back door.

Harry stood, and followed her to the door. He watched as she walked through a simple garden, opened a gate, and disappeared under the trees beyond.

He turned back to Draco, who was staring into his now cold cup of tea.

"I thought about what he said, and it... it made sense to me," Harry said quietly. Draco looked up, emotion burning on his face.

"Sense?" he asked.

"I– I watched you a lot at school. My friends told me I was obsessed with you," he whispered.

"And now?" asked Draco, his voice low.

"I missed you. I wanted to talk to you. I– I wanted to see what might happen." Harry closed his eyes, too scared to see Draco's reaction. He was scared of what he was saying, what he was admitting, out loud and for the first time. He opened his eyes again when he heard the scrape of a chair. Draco had stood up and was walking towards him. Harry felt trapped. But he didn't want to be anywhere else. He watched him approach. Draco moved with grace, his hair flashing in the bright sun streaming in from behind Harry. There was purpose in his eyes.

Draco stopped when he was stood in front of Harry. He looked into Harry's eyes for a long moment, and raised his hand. He reached out and touched the side of Harry's face, and gently ran it down the side of his jaw. His finger alighted for just a second on his lip, and Harry's mouth fell open of its own accord. Harry closed his eyes at the sensation. The next thing he knew, there was the featherlight touch of lips on his, and Draco was kissing him. His breath was warm on Harry's face, and his lips were soft yet strong as they moved, sending a thrill which reached all the way down Harry's spine, and his tongue whispered against Harry's mouth. Harry was still for a moment but then kissed back, reaching out a hand and pulling Draco closer. Draco hand held onto Harry's side, an insistent pressure along his ribs. As the kiss finally ended and they pulled back from each other, Harry's hand remained resting on Draco's back, which was warm and solid. Harry blinked and looked at Draco. He could see each hair of his eyelashes, catching the light. A shy smile lifted the corner of Draco's mouth. Harry's insides were a jumbling, churning heap of nerves. He had kissed Draco Malfoy and it had felt good. He might have to admit to himself that there was indeed a small chance that he was gay. He froze at the thought, a little overwhelmed.

"Harry," Draco whispered, his eyes intense, but before he could continue they were interrupted by the sound of a baby shrieking with joy. They broke apart as Andromeda reappeared at the end of the garden. Harry fell back, secretly relieved. He needed to think about what had just happened. It was all too much, too fast.

"I, er, I need to get going, actually," he said, tripping a little in his haste to move away. He made his way down the path gave Andromeda and Teddy a hasty peck on the cheek and nodded at Draco without really looking at him, not wanting to see the hurt or confusion he knew he would find. He almost ran round back to the front of the house, and Disapparated as soon as he was back on the road.

Harry was breathing heavily, sat on the stairs at number twelve. He reached up and touched his lip. He could still feel the warmth of Draco's touch. Was this what he wanted? How could it have taken so long to work this out for himself? Was this what he had been skirting around? He put his head in his hands. He looked up as a light cough interrupted his thoughts. Andromeda was standing there.

"Harry Potter," she said, "for all you are the hero of the wizarding world, you are a bit of an idiot, too."

"Where's Teddy?" Harry asked, looking around. Andromeda sighed and shook her head.

"Of all the things you could ask. He's at home with his confused and heartbroken cousin, of course." Harry looked down, chastened by the words.

"You look at me while I say this to you, Harry," she ordered, and he reluctantly brought his eyes up to meet hers. They were bright but sad. "You don't think I can see what there is, between you two. Either of you," she snorted. "It's as clear as the nose on that house-elf's face," she said, pointing to one of the hideous stuffed heads above them, "that you two are crazy about each other." As Harry made as if to interrupt her, she held her hand up. "No, you listen. I have buried a husband and a daughter, and the father of my only grandchild. I have known terrible loss, but also great love in my life. Believe me when I say that love is a wonderful thing. Even with my losses now, even with the years I've spent estranged from my family, it was worth it. You, young man, have lost and suffered too. But you've done it without much more than the love of friends to sustain you, as I understand it. Am I correct?" Harry nodded. "If you have the chance to have some love, then take it. It doesn't matter if it lasts for a day, or a lifetime, Harry, you should always take it," there were tears now, in her eyes. Her voice quivered with emotion as she spoke.

"Draco coming to find me was a wondrous thing. I never thought that I would get to meet, let alone know, Cissy's boy. And I like him. He is clever, and he is willing to look at life honestly. That has been a difficult lesson for him to learn, and he has learnt it in a difficult way. And what he saw, when he looked, was you." She fixed Harry with a particularly stern glance. "Do not throw away this chance, Harry. I wasn't sure if he had reason to hope until I saw the two of you together. Don't let him get away. Take this chance and be happy, for Merlin's sake!"

She stood up and Harry finally looked away. "Think about what I've said, but don't tarry. He won't wait for ever," and with that, she left as quietly as she had entered.

Harry sat there, stunned. His thoughts crashed around inside his head, swirling and leaping and mixing with feelings. He could still feel Draco's hand on his cheek, the touch of his lips, the hand pressing into his side. He wanted to be happy, he did. Would this make him happy? Was it real, or just the result of a strange summer spent locked up in this old house together? He sat there, thinking.

oOo

"I knew it! You've forgotten, haven't you?" said Ron.

Harry, still sitting on the stairs, frozen by the revelations of the day, frowned, trying to remember whatever it was Ron was talking about. Then he paled as it came back to him. "The Hogwarts thing, that's today?"

"Honestly, Harry, do you even know what day it is? We went through your speech just the other day." Hermione looked put out. Harry was shocked. How had he managed to forget the grand reopening ceremony? He had remembered that morning: see Teddy; go to Hogwarts had always been the plan. His encounter with Draco had blown everything else clear out of his mind. He let himself be hurried upstairs, where his smart clothes had already been laid out by Kreacher. Mechanically, he dressed and was soon standing alongside his friends, ready to Floo to Hogwarts.

Seats had been set out on the wide lawn by the entrance to Hogwarts. Harry was reminded of Dumbledore's funeral, and looked over towards the lake. When he looked back at the chairs he saw that this time, Harry and his friends had prime positions at the front. It was the most exposed Harry had been for a long time, and he felt hugely uncomfortable. But then he looked up, and saw the Weasleys, the Creeveys, and the families of the other dead. He felt a connection with them, forged not through death but over cups of tea and the sharing of memories. His discomfort eased a little.

When it was time for him to stand, he spoke of how Hogwarts had been one of the best homes he had known, of the important lessons he had learned — not just spells and charms, but about friendship and bravery. He was clear too, that such values were to be found in all houses. He spoke of those who had fought and those who had fallen, with warmth, with respect. He finished by hoping that Hogwarts would again stand for home, friendship, learning and respect. There was a short silence and then loud applause as he sat down. Hermione and Ron smiled at him as he sat down, and he smiled back.

Kingsley did the actual honours of cutting the ceremonial ribbon, and declaring the school open. They were then led nearer the lake, Dumbledore's tomb visible to one side. Large tables were laid out, with plates piled high with food, and a stack of enchanted plates, ready to follow their claimers around. As Harry walked around, talking to everyone from Luna to Aberforth Dumbledore, he caught sight of an elegant woman carrying a baby, and, hiding near the edges, a tall, blond-haired man. Andromeda, Teddy, and Draco. His heart began to beat a wild, syncopated staccato. He broke off mid-sentence and stared, then made some hasty excuses and rushed through the crowd of people, hoping to catch Draco. When he got to him, Draco shrank back, and Harry's heart sank.

"What do you want, Harry?" asked Draco, harshly.

"I just wanted to talk to you," replied Harry. "Please," he added, knowing he was begging.

Draco looked away proudly. "Now you do? Now you want to talk? It's a bit late." Harry reached out for him, but Draco pulled away. "Don't touch me," he spat out. "You've already made your feelings clear. Sorry I got it so wrong, but now could you please just leave me alone."

Harry was stung by Draco's rejection. "I thought–"

"Well you thought wrong," said Draco bitterly. "I was mad to think it would work. Seeing you here, making your speech, with all your admiring masses... It just wouldn't work, Harry. I can see that now."

"Please," pleaded Harry again. "Please," but Draco stepped away.

"Goodbye, Harry," and he walked off, his legs moving in a quick, clipped march. It was as fast as you could go and maintain any kind of dignity. Harry watched him move away, frustration swiftly overturned by a rising tide of anger; he couldn't believe Draco was running away from him again. Without thinking, he began to run, not caring who he crashed into on the way. When he caught up, slightly breathless from the chase, Harry held onto Draco's arm, his fingers digging into warm flesh.

"Stay and talk to me, Draco."

"No! And stop making a scene, Harry," and Draco pulled Harry's hand off his arm and left.

Harry didn't care who had seen, but the murmur of general chit chat around him didn't change, and he was left defeated by Draco's words. He went to sit by the lake, aimlessly throwing stones into it, watching the ripples of the splashes war with each other as they crossed the gentle waves moving across the lake.

He was surprised when someone came to sit down next to him. It was Ginny. She had her hair tied back, looking more grown up with it out of her face. She picked up a stone and skimmed it across the surface of the lake, getting three good bounces out of it before it sank into the water. They sat quietly for a moment, before she spoke.

"I hope it's ok me sitting with you, Harry. Ron asked me to find you. I think he was hoping that..." she trailed off, obviously embarrassed by her brother's clumsy matchmaking skills. Harry let out a shaky laugh. This would be the time his friend tried to intervene.

"Are you ok, Harry? I only came because no one could find you, Ron said someone needed to come to get you. But something's happened, hasn't it?"

Harry looked at her, and he was hit, sharply, with sadness that things hadn't worked out between them. He sighed, a long, shuddery exhale with a hint of tears.

"It's just such a mess, Ginny," he said, putting his head in his hands. "It's just—" he stopped, shaking his head. "You're probably not the best person for me to talk to about this."

"Try me," she said calmly.

"I've been a bit lost, since the war finished. I've been trying to work out what I want in life. What will make me happy," she nodded, warily. "The thing is, I think... I think I might be gay."

Ginny breathed in fast, a big inhalation of surprise. Her eyes looked hurt and were shiny as she looked away. Harry cringed at his pathetic clumsiness in telling her first, of all people. They sat quietly as she processed his revelation, her hair hiding her face from view as she bowed her head.

"Harry, I– we– I should have known," she quietly shook her head, then looked at him. "Are you sure?" she asked, and he nodded. "How long have you known?"

His voice shook as he said, "I think I probably knew deep down for a while now. But for sure? I don't know. Maybe a few hours."

"A _few hours_?" she asked, shocked. Then her eyes narrowed. She took another deep breath. "I probably don't want to know, but what happened?" Harry couldn't look at her as he answered. He kept his eyes on the water in front of him.

"Draco Malfoy kissed me," he said quietly.

"Malfoy?" she whispered.

"Yes, Draco, and I liked it," he said, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth, the pressure, the tingle down his spine again.

Ginny stood and started to walk up and down the edge of the lake. When she stopped, she had a determined look on her face, although her eyes still carried some hurt.

"Right, get up," Harry looked confused. "We're going to find him."

Harry shook his head. "I've already seen him here. It didn't go well," but Ginny just pouted.

"I don't care. We're still going to find him," she dragged Harry up, and pulled out her wand. "_Point me_ Draco Malfoy," she said clearly, and the wand turned and pointed off to one side. She started walking and Harry followed, reluctantly. Ginny only stopped when they found themselves heading towards the stands of the Quidditch pitch. She nodded in their direction.

"I have a feeling you'll find him there," she said, "I think I just saw him under that stand. You don't need me any more, Harry," her smile sad. He looked at her, tall and fierce and so, so strong. Always.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I think you're the bravest person I know."

"Good luck, Harry," she said, and Harry watched her as she walked off. He suspected she might be crying, but her feet did not falter and she carried her head high.

Harry turned back to the stands, and saw a fleeting hint of movement under one of them. He hurried towards it. Draco was standing, waiting for him.

"Finished talking to your girlfriend?" asked Draco, angrily.

"She's not my girlfriend. She hasn't been, for more than a year now, you know," Harry held Draco's gaze. "There's only one person I'm interested in, and he's standing in front of me," and this time it was Harry who stepped forward and put a hand up to Draco's face. He ran his finger along Draco's lips. "I have felt these lips on mine ever since you kissed me," he moved his hand around to the back of Draco's neck. Draco shivered. "I liked it. I like you. And I want to do it again," and he pulled Draco towards him, and kissed him with all the desire that had built up over the day.

Draco returned the kiss, then pulled back. He leant his head against Harry's. "How do I know you won't run off again?" he whispered.

In answer Harry kissed him again, then held on and pulled Draco even closer, moving his other hand to Draco's waist, tugging at his shirt until it pulled free from his trousers, and slipping his hand onto the warm, soft skin there. Draco felt as amazing as he had thought he would: the heat of his body, the smoothness of his skin and the hint of muscle just beneath. Harry had wanted to touch him for so very, very long. Draco's hands were also moving, and they pulled Harry's shirt up too. Harry felt the trail of fire along his skin again, as hot hands moved, needy and urgent, along his back. They pulled back, panting. This time, they were both smiling, and no one ran away. Grinning at each other, they leant into each other for another kiss, and this time they were pressed closely enough to feel how aroused they both were. Harry groaned. He didn't think he'd ever felt so good.

He wasn't sure what would have happened next, but he heard Andromeda's voice calling Draco, and reluctantly pulled back. Draco's face was flushed, his eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, his clothes in disarray. Harry was pretty sure that he didn't look much better. As Andromeda appeared from behind a wooden column, Harry grasped Draco's hand in his and held on tightly. He felt Draco's fingers interlink with his and squeeze. Andromeda stopped when she saw them, and she smiled.

"Good," she said, "about time. But perhaps this isn't the best place gentlemen, with so many of the wizarding press present. I would suggest that you, um, tidy yourselves up, then come back out."

Harry started tucking his shirt in, feeling a little odd being caught like this, especially with Teddy smiling at him. Andromeda started to walk away, but turned and looked at Harry. "Perhaps you would like to come for dinner, tonight. We never did finish your visit today, and it would be nice to have the company," Harry nodded, and he felt Draco's hand on the small of his back, a promise for later.

"I'd love to," he smiled.

A few minutes later, Harry and Draco emerged, smiling and relaxed, but no longer hand in hand. Harry didn't want to detract from the people who deserved the attention today. He also wasn't quite ready to answer questions – he was still finding his own answers. They didn't stay much longer, and Harry was carrying a sleepy Teddy when he said goodbye to Ron and Hermione. They accepted, without question, his explanation that he was having dinner with Andromeda. He exchanged a glance with Ginny, and he nodded at her once, an explanation and a thank you, all in one. She smiled, a little sadly, and walked away.

Harry cast a long shadow as he walked back to the castle, with his godson in his arms.


	9. Home

**A/N:** This is the final chapter of When a Tree Dreams, although there is an epilogue to come (which I will probably post in the next few days)? And last week, when I said that Chapter Eight was one of my favourites? _This_ is my favourite. Also, we've definitely moved into 'M' territory. Thank you for all the reviews and support, as ever.

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**Chapter 9 - Home**

By the time they got back to Woodshade Cottage, Teddy was ready for sleep. He had cried whilst Flooing, and was all red-faced and snotty. As she soothed him in her arms, Andromeda fixed Harry and Draco with a knowing smile.

"Why don't you two go for a walk while I put Teddy to bed," she said, and they quickly agreed and slipped out the back door, heading towards the trees.

Light was streaming from the lowering sun, long, golden beams with dancing dust piercing through the gaps between leaves. Fruit hung ripening from the branches, and Harry realised that the trees formed a haphazard orchard. As soon as they were under cover of the leaves, Harry stopped thinking about where he was as Draco grabbed him, and pushed him up against a rather knobbly old apple tree. He pressed his body against Harry's, and put an arm possessively around his waist, his other hand leaning on the rough bark as he moved his face closer, and kissed Harry. The hand on Harry's side moved with firm pressure, and Draco's tongue met Harry's and then there was no thinking, just kissing and touching and holding.

Harry grabbed Draco's belt and pulled him closer. He felt as if he was melting, against the tree. No matter how close he pulled Draco, he never seemed close enough. He broke away from the kiss, and looked intently at Draco, whose eyes were wide and lips swollen. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and unbuttoned the top button of Draco's shirt. Draco's eyes went even wider, and he licked his lips. He hung his head back a little as Harry unfastened the next button. Draco's skin was smooth, slightly flushed but still pale. Harry brushed, hard, across Draco's collarbone with the flat pad of his thumb, and Draco inhaled noisily. He undid another button, and bent forward to kiss the hollow below Draco's neck. Draco groaned, and moved his hand from Harry's side up to his face. He held Harry's head, his fingers moving through his hair, and pulled him up for another kiss. It was hot and hungry, and Harry was straining against his trousers, the world narrowed down to a pin-prick of desire. They rested their foreheads against each other, their breathing heavy and ragged.

"Draco," Harry moaned.

"I know," answered Draco.

They stood like that, for a moment more, then Harry brought his hand back to Draco's belt. Clumsily, he managed to pull it open, and freed it from its buckle. Then he undid the top button of Draco's trousers. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he just wanted to get _closer_. He slid his hand under Draco's underwear, holding his wrist at an awkward angle as his fingers searched blindly through the hot space, but it didn't matter when he felt the hot, smooth length beneath his fingers. His own breath shuddered as he squeezed gently, then found a way to grip and move. Draco's eyes, once so sad, were now burning, lost in pleasure. Unsteadily, Draco's hands found their way past Harry's belt and trousers, and into his boxers. His fingers were slightly cool as they touched Harry for the first time, and Harry whimpered at the sensation. They stood, half embracing, as they worked away at each other. Harry braced himself against the tree at his back, the rough bark digging into him. He didn't care; without it he probably would have fallen over. It didn't take long for him to feel Draco shudder, to feel the pulsing and the wet warmth in his hand. Draco's hand on him had stilled for a minute, but then started to move again. Harry was lost in the feelings of the moment, and as Draco's hand twisted around his head he too, came.

Draco let his head fall down into Harry's neck for a moment, inhaling his smell and leaving behind a small kiss when he stepped back. They managed to get their hands out of each other's pants, red marks showing where they had been trapped, the shine of wetness on their fingers. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on Draco's nose and top lip, which Harry had an urge to lick off. Instead he gave him a light kiss on the lips, which lingered into something slightly deeper before it ended. They sank down to sitting on the ground beneath the tree, hard roots marking paths away from them.

Draco produced his wand, and, smiling shyly at Harry, whispered a quiet _tergeo_ at both their crotches. Harry felt a tingle and a sting, and the feeling of wetness was gone. He wiped his hand on the leaf litter on the ground, and Draco did the same. They sat back against the tree, their sides warm against each other. Harry reached for Draco's hand, and Draco rested his head against Harry's shoulder.

"I've never done anything like that, with anyone," said Harry quietly. Draco turned his head to look up at him.

"Me neither," he whispered, his fingers tracing a pattern along the back of Harry's hand. Harry looked at him, watching his eyes open and close, his eyelashes, invisible from a distance, quite clear this close. He had looked so many times before, but now he could touch. He reached across his body and gently stroked across Draco's eyes, down the side of his cheek, all the way to his ever-so-slightly pointy chin. He smiled.

"I don't know why it was so hard for me to accept that I wanted to touch you," he said.

"Sometimes, I thought I saw you looking, but I convinced myself that I was imagining it –wishful thinking– but now I'm not so sure," said Draco, with a smile. Harry laughed, a little ruefully.

"I think I was doing a pretty good job at persuading myself that I was imagining it too," he sighed.

They sat, close, occasionally exchanging words, until they heard Andromeda call them, her voice floating out to them on the breeze. They stood, stiffly, brushing odd bits of leaf and insect off themselves, and for the second time that day, tucking and straightening themselves before they went to find her. The trees whispered, the coolness of the shade spreading out as the sun began to dip in the sky. Birds chirped and insects hummed, in a final burst of life before the day's end.

oOo

Andromeda had made a simple meal of potatoes, salmon, beans and tomatoes, glistening with dressing, and a fresh, green salad. She opened a bottle of wine, and poured them all a glass. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, as they chatted about Teddy, and about Hogwarts. Draco told Harry about how he had been working on strengthening spell-blasted walls inside the school. McGonagall was his Wizangamot-nominated witch to report to, and so far she had been kind and fair. Just like before, Harry was aware of where Draco was, but this time it was a feeling of warmth, just short of a touch. And Harry and Draco touched often, an accidental brush of hands on the table, or a deliberate pressing of legs together. By the time the sky had faded to a pale blue and blush, the sun having made its way down to the horizon, Harry was aching to touch Draco properly. He felt Draco's hand begin to rub gently, up and down his thigh, and gulped down some wine. Judging by the way his hand was moving, Draco felt the same.

Harry made one last attempt at rational conversation. He was enjoying Andromeda's company, and had something important he wanted to ask her.

"Andromeda," he began, nervous and a little distracted by the presence of Draco's hand on his leg, "I have something I'd like to ask you, if I may."

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm not sure if it's ok to ask, but..." he took a deep breath before continuing. "As you know I'm living at number twelve, with Kreacher. I inherited both from Sirius. But I'm not sure that I want to stay there, permanently. Also, although I have started getting used to Kreacher, I'm not comfortable having him at my beck and call."

"So what would you like to ask me, then? Something about the house and Kreacher?"

"I wanted to ask you if you would like the house, to live in with Teddy. You could have Kreacher too. It– they're both yours too, in a way."

Andromeda looked intently at him, a slight frown on her face. Something wistful passed across her face, and then it was gone. With a sigh she shook her head. "Thank you, but no, Harry. I love this house, and the memories of Ted and Nymphadora it carries. And I want Teddy to grow up with the fields and the trees, just like his mother did. It might not be big, or grand, but it's a home," she smiled kindly as she spoke. Looking around him, Harry knew she was right. "Do what you want to do with the house. I don't know what to suggest about Kreacher," Harry nodded, a little disappointed that she didn't have any easy answers, but at the same time able to see that there probably weren't any.

Her eyes were still fixed on Harry, and he could see she had more to say. "Harry, I know that you've been of age for a year now, but however much you may feel you have to be an adult, and make serious decisions about your life and your future, you don't have to make them all at once," she smiled gently and moved her gaze over to Draco, then back. "You've already made one huge decision today, Harry. Don't you think that's enough, for one day?" Harry felt Draco squeeze his leg, and he lowered his hand to squeeze it back.

"I guess so," he said. "It's just that after everything that happened, everyone kept saying that I needed to work out what I wanted to do with my life. I'd never thought past what would happen if Voldemort died." Both Andromeda and Draco flinched when he said Voldemort's name, and Harry stroked Draco's hand soothingly with his thumb.

Andromeda recovered quickly. "Oh, don't worry," she reassured him, "you will work it all out. You can't see how far you've already come," Andromeda looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do have one idea, though. Perhaps Kreacher could come here to help me sometimes, to give you a bit of a break from him, and to make things easier for me, too." Her eyes were twinkling as she leant forward, a conspiratorial glint in her voice, "Harry, take it from someone older and wiser than you: cleaning and laundry are boring and time-consuming, and if you can get some help getting them done, don't turn it down." Harry burst out laughing, and a second later so did Draco. She watched them as they calmed down, delight and affection clear on her face.

Harry smiled shyly at her. "That sounds like good advice, and, er, it sounds like a good idea. I'll talk to Kreacher and see if we can make it work."

Andromeda sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. "Good," she said. She yawned. "And on that note, I think it's time I went to bed," and as she stood up she looked at the dishes on the table. "Perhaps you two could help an old dear and get these sorted. And then," she added, eyes on Draco, "I expect I will see you when I see you. It has been lovely having you here, and you are always welcome, dear nephew, but if you find a... better offer, I will understand." Draco rose and kissed her gently on the cheek in silent thanks, and she went upstairs to bed.

Harry and Draco were left alone in the kitchen. Harry got to show off some washing and drying charms he'd learned from Kreacher, and soon they were stood by the open door, looking out over the dark night. Draco put his arm around Harry. His hand ran up and down Harry's side, insistent, hungry for more. Harry shivered, from more than just the night breeze. "Let's go home," he whispered, and Draco nodded and pulled him closer for a kiss. The kiss was greedy, with what felt like hours of waiting poured into it. They pulled back and smiled at each other. "No running away, this time, Harry," whispered Draco, and Harry answered him with another kiss, slower, more tender this time.

They quietly locked up, then made their way to the fireplace to Floo back to Grimmauld Place. It took a little longer than it should have, as they had to stop when Harry pushed Draco up against the doorframe for a long and lingering kiss, his hands straying down Draco's back and just under the top of his trousers, grabbing a handful of flesh and pressing their crotches together. Draco broke away, panting, and growled, "let's take this home, Harry." A thrill passed through Harry at hearing the rumble in Draco's voice, and finally they dragged themselves apart and made it to the other side of the room.

They fell out of the Floo, and landed in a tumbled heap on the rug in front of the fireplace in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight coming in from the window. They didn't bother getting up. They turned to face each other, still for a moment in the moonlight. And then Harry began to unbutton Draco's shirt again. As each button slipped through the narrow slits, Draco's breathing hitched a little. Inch by inch, his skin, silver-white in the darkened room, was revealed. Harry could see his chest, rising and falling, his ribs beneath his skin. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, he went to pull it off, but Draco stopped him. His fingers were hot and firm on Harry's wrist.

"Wait, let me..." he said in a low, intense voice. And then he reached over and undid Harry's tie, pulling, easing, sliding it off. He popped each button of his shirt undone, and Harry found himself holding his breath in anticipation of each moment of pressure then release. They sat facing each other, shirts hanging open. Draco ran his hand across Harry's chest, leaving the trail of fire again. Then Harry eased Draco's shirt off. His hand froze as he saw the shine of the thin scar running across Draco's chest, all the way from his left collarbone down to the edge of his right hip. It was worse now, knowing how much it had hurt Draco, more than just physically. Harry ran his finger down the whole length of the scar.

"I was so stupid," he said, "I'm so sorry I hurt you."

Draco gently took his hand and looked him in the eyes. "It doesn't matter now, and you weren't the only one who was stupid," and with that he turned his arm so Harry could see the Dark Mark. Seeing the symbol of so much hatred on Draco's arm was hard, but it seemed to symbolise so much more now. Harry reached out, but only touched one edge as Draco flinched away.

"It doesn't mean what it did," whispered Harry. "It means you have seen death and known fear, but it doesn't mean it is your life now," and he reached up to touch his own scar. After all, the reminder that he had carried a part of Voldemort's soul for years seemed darker than a tattoo. "We've all been marked, one way or another."

He reached out and put his hand under Draco's chin, tilting his face up for another kiss. Draco responded slowly, but then with increasing enthusiasm, ending with him pulling off Harry's shirt and wrapping his arms around his bare torso. It just felt right, naked skin on naked skin, yet not quite enough. They clung to each other for a moment longer, hands seeking out the length of their backs, the curve of ribs, the outline of shoulder blades. Everywhere that Draco's hands ran burned with the fire of desire, and Harry felt his body waking up, responding to the touch.

With impatience they undid each other's belts, buttons and zips. Awkwardly yet seamlessly they pulled off and wriggled out of trousers and underwear until they were both naked, panting and sitting on the floor. Their eyes had adjusted to the half-light, and the moon seemed bright as its light streamed in, transforming all it touched to cold silver, the colour bled out. Harry, fully erect himself, looked down in wonder at Draco, hot, hard and leaking a single drop, shiny in the light. Although he had touched it before, it was something else to be confronted with such obvious arousal. A voice in the back of his mind told him that he should have been scared of this new intimacy, but he wasn't. He just wanted more.

He reached out and touched the hot flesh, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers as a kind of home-coming. Draco's eyes were fixed on him, and he reached out and touched Harry too. Harry squeaked with the relief of feeling Draco's hot skin on his, and Draco smiled, then licked his top lip. They leant forward for an intense, dirty deep kiss, then shuffled closer, until their cocks were touching. Draco held both in his hand, and Harry covered his hand with his own, and they moved together. Harry's whole body felt afire now, but all his awareness was focused on his hand, his cock, and Draco's. All he could hear was their breath, rough and ragged, filling the room. He bit his lip and lost himself to the sensation of touching and being touched, until he cried out and came, just about aware that Draco did too.

They sat back from each other, breathless but grinning. Draco shook his head and laughed. "How long did we live together here? And we weren't doing this all the time?"

"There's still plenty of time for more," said Harry, smiling but shy.

"Mmmmmm," said Draco. He started feeling round in their discarded clothes for his wand, but Harry got there first and cast the _Tergeo_ this time; the shiver of his spell work feeling more familiar than Draco's. They moved round a bit, so that their backs were resting against the side of the settee. The rug was a little itchy against their naked arses, but neither had the energy to move much further.

"Harry," asked Draco, "did you ever think of doing that, before?" Harry thought about it for a minute.

"I would have said no if you'd asked me before, but that first night you arrived here, all wet, or any time I saw this," and he reached over and placed a hand on Draco's stomach, trailing his hand lazily down, "I would become a little... distracted." Draco ducked and grinned.

"I had some good Quidditch-inspired dreams at school," Draco said in return. "There's something about the way you handle a broom," and he waggled his eyebrows. Harry gave him a little shove as he saw the smile on Draco's face.

Draco yawned, stretching slightly, and Harry appreciated the movement of muscle beneath his hand. "I'm tired, Harry, but there's no way I'm sleeping here," and he stood, pulling Harry up. Carrying just their wands, they made their way upstairs together, naked and happy. As Draco walked in front of Harry, despite the fact that he too, was now yawning, he couldn't resist reaching up and squeezing the arse moving in front of him. He was rewarded with another growl from Draco, and they kissed again, their mouths and hands hungry, at the too of the stairs. There was a moment when they looked at the two doors, before Draco pulled them into Harry's room and flung Harry onto the bed. Draco pinned him for a minute, giving him one more deep kiss before rolling off and yawning again. "Time to sleep," he said, and they stretched out, side by side, Draco's hand resting on the edge of Harry's hip, and went to sleep.

oOo

When Harry woke, light was streaming in, bright and clear. It was obviously not early morning. He stretched, deliciously, and felt a thrill as his leg brushed against Draco's. Draco was still asleep, naked and sprawled across the bed. Harry looked at him with appreciative eyes. His limbs were long and strong, muscle tight beneath the skin. A haze of blond hairs covered his legs, sticking out from below the sheet. Draco's chest and stomach were warm when Harry ran a hand down them. He blinked for a minute. How had he gone from where he was yesterday morning to where he was now? In the end, he supposed, he had just had to trust himself, but it had been hard. He smiled. It felt right, having Draco here. He still had no idea about the rest of his life, but he knew he was glad he'd accepted this.

Harry quietly got out of bed and went to pee. Just as he got back into the bedroom, looking forward to getting back into bed and waking Draco up, he heard voices from downstairs, calling his name. He forgot that Ron and Hermione basically treated Grimmauld Place as their home too. This was going to be a tad tricky, but there was no avoiding his friends. Draco opened one eye and groaned.

"That's not who I think it is, is it, Harry?" he asked, sleep still making his voice fuzzy. Harry reached down and kissed him lightly.

"Don't worry, I'll go deal with them."

"Er, Harry, any chance you could retrieve my clothes while you're there?" This time it was Harry who groaned. He hauled himself up and quickly put on a t-shirt and some pyjama bottoms. With one last look at Draco, he opened the door and made his way downstairs.

He found them standing in the hallway.

"Oh Harry, do you ever get out of bed in the morning? Honestly," grumbled Hermione. They followed him into the drawing room, where he hastily scooped up the clothes lying scattered near the fireplace.

"I, er– um, excuse me for a minute," said Harry, and he left the room, cheeks ablaze, and took the stairs up to his room two at a time. He opened his door and threw the clothes onto the bed. Draco, sat up in bed and laughing, blew him a kiss, and Harry shook his head and stuck his tongue out in return before rushing back downstairs. He found Hermione with her eyebrows raised, and Ron frozen to the spot. There was an awkward silence, which lasted far longer than was comfortable. In the end Ron broke it.

"Harry, mate, what did you get up to last night? Actually, I don't think I want to know," he mumbled, shaking his head. He took a few steps backwards and stumbled into the settee. He sat down.

"I– er," Harry stuttered and blushed. He looked between his two friends. This wasn't quite how he would have chosen to tell them about him, or about Draco. But he could see there was only one way this conversation was going to go. He eyed Ron apprehensively. He had no idea at all how Ron was going to react, although his current shocked look didn't bode well. "It all– I've only just–" he broke off, each false start bringing him no closer to finding the words he needed.

The sound of doors opening and shutting, and of footsteps on the landing distracted them all.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, "Is there someone here?"

"Er–" said Harry, "well, there's Kreacher, I suppose." Hermione fixed him with a sharp look.

"That doesn't sound like Kreacher," she said, as they all heard another heavy creak from upstairs.

Awareness slowly dawned on Ron's face. "Did you pick someone up last night?" he asked, "When did you find time? I thought you went straight to Andromeda's last night." Harry watched Hermione's eyes widen as she began to put two and two together. The expression on Ron's face was still somewhere between disbelief and the beginning of understanding.

"I–" Harry started, but before he could continue the door to room swung open, and Draco stepped in. He was wearing his clothes from the day before, now noticeably creased and crumpled. As if they had been lying on the floor all night.

"Granger, Weasley," he nodded at each as he said their name. Then he turned to Harry, "I'm just going back to my aunt's to get my things. I'll... I'll see you later, Harry," he added softly. He took a step forward as if to kiss Harry, but changed his mind and went to the fireplace instead. Draco took a handful of Floo powder from the large shell on the mantelpiece and said "Woodshade Cottage" very clearly before stepping into the the green flames and disappearing.

"Er, Draco's moving back in?" offered Harry tentatively, knowing it wouldn't be enough. Hermione blinked a few times.

"You worked out your differences, then?" she asked, dryly.

"You could say that, yes," mumbled Harry, looking down at his toes.

"Is there something you want to tell us, Harry?" asked Ron, his voice tight. He was sitting absolutely still and looking a little pale too. Harry sighed and came to sit down opposite him. Hermione sat down next to Ron and held his hand, and they both looked at Harry, expectantly.

"I, er, I've had a lot of time to think about things, the past few months," began Harry, nervously. "When Draco came to stay we kept out of each other's way, at first, but in the end, we started to spend more time with each other. Eventually, I think we became friends," he looked up. "But you knew that already," he added, and Hermione nodded, although Ron just kept staring at him. "When he... left, I found out that he... liked me. You know, _liked_ me. It– I was confused by it. I started thinking about how I felt about him. I missed him," Harry stopped, unsure of what to say next.

"I thought it might be something like that, that night we were talking with Luna, in the Three Broomsticks," said Hermione, slowly. She looked at Harry, carefully. "Do you remember what I said that night, Harry?" she asked. Harry looked away as he thought for minute. Then his eyes shot back to her, and he was suddenly aware of how tight his chest felt, of how tense he was.

"You said that you would be my friend no matter what I worked out, that you wanted me to happy," he whispered. Hermione nodded. The memory of Hermione's words was enough to give Harry the confidence to go on.

"So I have done lots of thinking, and Draco... Draco helped me to realise, to accept that..." he trailed off and looked at their faces. There was nothing for it but to say the words. "I'm gay. And I'm... I'm with Draco," he added in a whisper at the end.

There was a long silence after his announcement. Hermione was smiling slightly and biting her lower lip, looking emotional. Ron was still pale, but there was a flush to his cheeks that could have been anything. Harry was surprised when Ron was the first to speak.

"Do you remember what I said, Harry?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer, but continued straight away. "I said that all you needed was love, Harry. I'm a bit... surprised about where you've found it, but if you're happy..." he shrugged. Harry was shocked. Ron looked like he had more to say, though, and, after a brief struggle to get it out, he asked, "But what about Ginny? If you're gay, what does that mean you had with my sister?"

Harry sighed. It was a good question. "I cared about Ginny, I still do. But as a friend more than anything else. There was just something... missing. And I've grown up a lot since we were together. She, er, she knows, about me. And, er, about Draco."

"She _knows_? Since when?" asked Hermione, shocked.

"Since yesterday–" started Harry, but he was interrupted by an angry Ron.

"Yesterday? She didn't... she didn't _see _you, together, did she?" he asked, his voice rising. Harry quickly shook his head.

"No, she came to find me, and we talked, and then she took me to Draco. If it wasn't for her, we might not have..." Ron sat back, stunned. "She's the bravest person I know, Ron. I don't want to hurt her, you have to believe me. I think we're ok though."

"I think I'm going to need a bit of time to get my head round all of this," said Ron, eventually. "But I'm happy for you, I am. I'm glad you've worked out something so big about yourself, about your life. I know how much better I felt once I worked out who I wanted to be with," he said and he gave Hermione a squeeze. She smiled at him, proudly.

Harry looked at his friends and smiled, the tension in his chest easing a little. They never ceased to amaze him, and he did truly love them for it.

"How about we go downstairs and get a cup of tea?" he asked, and they went off in search of a cuppa.

oOo

Down in the kitchen, they found Kreacher, hidden away, looking morose. His face lit up when Harry asked for tea. Hermione looked uncomfortable, and Harry resolved to talk to her about his issues Kreacher. She might be able to help him decide what to do. But not right now.

Harry managed to get scrambled eggs and toast, as well as tea. He was happily eating, and the mood had relaxed somewhat, when Hermione turned to Harry.

"Look, this probably isn't the time, but the reason we came over today was to talk to you about Hogwarts. Term is starting soon. A bit late, obviously, because of the rebuilding. They've worked something out with shorter holidays and more timetabling–", Ron groaned and rolled his eyes, and Hermione frowned at him before continuing, "–and I want to know if you're going to go back. McGonagall said she didn't want to ask you too many times because you 'seem a young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders', but _I_ have no such qualms."

Harry looked at her. There was a gleam in her eyes that he knew well. "You're going back, aren't you?" he asked. She nodded. He knew she meant Ron was going back too.

"That shouldn't affect your decision though, Harry," she said softly. "It's up to you, and you alone," she tapped him, once on his arm, then withdrew. Harry closed his eyes for a minute. He could feel an idea forming, deep inside. He knew that once it reached the surface of his mind, he would know what to do.

"I'll think about it, really, I will. I know I should have been thinking about this already. I have a bit, but..." he trailed off, "I guess I've had other things on my mind." He looked up at her shyly. "I wouldn't mind talking to Draco about it, too," and he held up an hand to stop her before she could interrupt. "And I know it's not his decision either, well, apart from him. If the offer's open to him, that is," he frowned. Hermione gave him a look which indicated that she didn't know if it was. He sighed. "I'll be ok, you'll see."

They chatted a bit more after that, about Hogwarts, about their friends, even about Draco. Harry told them that he hoped they would get to know Draco, that Draco had changed. They didn't say much in response to this, but Harry hoped they would try, for his sake. Ron told Harry a story about Neville and Luna which had him crying with laughter. He felt his insides finally unclench and relax.

In the end, Hermione stood up, and Harry knew it was time for his friends to go.

oOo

After they left, Harry went into the garden. He had spent more time there at night time than during the day, and he barely recognised it in the bright sunlight. Looking around, he decided that it was time to do something about it. It could be a lovely garden. The sun was warming his shoulders when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned, and there was Draco, still in his crumpled clothes. Harry smiled, as he felt his heart lift. Draco crossed the space to join him, and stood close, taking Harry's hand in his.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Fine," said Harry, "it was fine." He rested his head against Draco's, ever so gently. "They're going back to Hogwarts, soon. They want me to go too."

"What did you say?" asked Draco, his voice uncertain, vulnerable.

"That I don't know. I– I might want to. I'm not sure if I'm ready to take on all my adult responsibilities yet. It would be a way to take back a bit of what I lost, I think," the thoughts were just starting to become clear in Harry's head, as he spoke, bubbling and rising to the surface. Draco was silent. "I'm not sure if I'd want to do it without you, though," he added.

"McGonagall did offer," Draco said quietly, "but I'm not sure. I... I have to think about it."

"That's what I said. I know it's my own decision and yours is yours, but we are in each other's lives now," he pulled away and looked at Draco. "We'll figure this out, together," and Draco nodded, then pulled Harry back towards him.

After a while, relaxed and sleepy in the sun with Draco's warmth to hold on to, Harry thought to ask about Draco's day. "How was Andromeda?"

"Oh, Aunt Dromeda was lovely. She made me food and I played with Teddy. The usual," and Harry smiled. He'd only really known her a day, but he knew what Draco meant.

Standing among the brambles and other weeds, Harry was beginning to get too hot, and a little sweaty. He wanted to be a little more comfortable.

"Let's go upstairs. We both need to wash and get dressed properly," he suggested, and he pulled Draco towards the kitchen door. Together they made their way upstairs. When they got to the landing outside Harry's room, Draco nudged him towards the bathroom instead. Harry's eyes widened as he understood Draco's intent, and he happily pushed Draco ahead of him.

Outside, the sounds of the water and the echoes of voices moved by pleasure floated in the air, and became lost amongst the sounds of beetles crawling, birds singing, leaves flapping and fluttering, and plants growing. The world changed, slowly and inevitably, all around them, as it always does. The trees stood swaying and spreading their open leaves to the sun. They waited for the quiet stillness of winter, when they could sleep and dream of magic and love, soaring high in the sky.


	10. Epilogue

**A/N:** Well, here we are, at the end. This fic has been the longest thing I've written to date, and since I started this (which was actually back in February or March) I've found out so much about Harry and Draco, and about writing. I've also made some new friends along the way, so thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed; thanks for bearing with me as I worked things out. Huge and especial thanks to birdsofshoreandsea and Evilgiraffe82 for pre reading and betaing respectively. Your encouragement and support has been much appreciated?

**Epilogue**

_April 1999_

Harry and Draco stood on the steps of number twelve. Harry unlocked the door with his wand, and pushed it open. Inside was dark, and Harry was surprised at how empty the place felt without Kreacher there. As soon as the door shut behind them though, Draco pushed him up against the wall and kissed him, long and hard. Harry could feel how relieved Draco was, to finally be back. He understood because he felt the same.

He had never imagined that this house would end up feeling like home, but now it really did. That heady week in September, just the two of them here, had been... amazing, really.

"It's ok," he whispered, "we don't have to rush, you know." Harry looked at Draco, his eyes dancing with amusement. "We do have all weekend."

"Like that is ever enough," growled Draco, and he slowly, deliberately began to kiss Harry's neck. By the time little noises began to escape Harry, Draco pulled back. "And how often do we get this place to ourselves? No house elf or housemates?" He pushed his body against Harry, and Harry groaned.

For a time, there were no more words as they ground their bodies against each other. Soon Harry could feel Draco's erection pressing, hot and urgent, against his. He quickly realised that they were going to get no further than this hallway, that they needed to do this now. He kissed Draco with greed, making up for the past week of stolen kisses and furtive gropes at school. When they'd decided to go back to Hogwarts to complete their NEWTs, he hadn't known just how hard it would be; it was a slow torture not to be able to touch Draco whenever he wanted to. His hands slipped under Draco's clothes, seeking out skin.

"I've missed you," he whispered.

"I'm here," answered Draco. "I'm here," he repeated.

Harry pulled back and bit his lip. And then began to loosen his tie. This time, it was Draco who groaned. He stepped back, his face tinged with pink and his breathing shallow as he watched Harry pull off his tie, and then his robes. When Harry got to his shirt, Draco put out his hand and brushed Harry's aside.

"Let me," he said, his voice low but full of... edge. One by one he began to undo the buttons. Harry shivered at the sensation. When his shirt lay open, Draco ran a hand down Harry's chest. As he moved it up and down, he began to talk.

"I didn't tell you, that I saw you, the other day. After Quidditch. In the showers," he said. "You were with Ron, otherwise I would have... interrupted." Harry closed his eyes, and swallowed. "It was getting dark outside, and I'd only popped back to pick up my bag. I'd forgotten it after coaching the Slytherin team. Anyway, I heard the showers, and I knew you'd been practising, so I went to see if it was you. It was and you had your eyes closed, just like they are now. The water was running down your body, and all I wanted to do was run in and grab you. But you weren't alone, so I couldn't. So I just watched. Can you imagine what that was like? Standing in a darkened corner, wanting you? I Disillusioned myself and just stood there. I stayed until you had finished in the shower. I kept hoping that your friends would head back first, but you all left together. I stood in the dark and imagined what I would do to you if you had stayed." He paused, and Harry opened his eyes to find Draco staring at him. Harry felt locked in place by his gaze, just about able to remember to keep breathing. If he thought he had been aroused before, he was wrong. This was just so much... more.

"Would you like to know what I imagined, Harry? Shall I show you?" Draco asked. Harry looked at him, and somehow managed to make his head nod.

"Yes, yes please," he said in a shaky voice. Draco's hand moved down, and he undid Harry's flies, then gently pulled his trousers down. He moved to his knees to remove Harry's underwear, and Harry shivered as he felt Draco's hot breath on his cock. He leant back against the wall in nothing but his school shirt, hanging loose from his shoulders, and took in a long and shuddering breath as Draco moved his mouth in soft kisses down from the tip of his penis to the base, until he was kissing and sucking at Harry's balls. Harry closed his eyes again, and imagined Draco in the dark of the changing room, wanking as he thought about—

Harry stopped thinking at about that point, because Draco took him into his mouth and it was just too good. It was good every time. Harry surrendered to the warmth, to Draco. It didn't take long before he felt his body tense up and then he came, groaning with relief after the past week of sexual frustration. Quite how he'd managed before having this in his life, he wasn't sure. He looked down, and saw Draco watching him. Harry smiled, and slid down the wall until he was sitting facing Draco. He kissed Draco gently on the lips.

"And what did you imagine I'd do to you?" he asked. Draco smiled, and leant forward to whisper in Harry's ear. His breath was hot and tickled slightly, and when he finished Harry laughed. "Oh, I see," he said. "But I think it would work better upstairs."

Draco sprang up and Harry let himself be pulled up to the bedroom. By the time they got there, Draco's tie and shirt were lying discarded on the stairs, and his trousers and briefs were on the landing floor.

oOo

When Harry woke up the next morning, it was to find Draco leant up on one elbow, looking at him.

"Morning," he mumbled. Draco raised his hand and traced Harry's lips with his finger, then leant forward and kissed him.

"Morning, sleepy," he said. Harry yawned and stretched.

"What time is it?"

"Time for us to get up, unfortunately," said Draco. Harry leant up and kissed him. Despite being up for half the night, he felt rested. "It's almost midday, you know," Draco added.

"Really?" asked Harry, and Draco nodded. Harry frowned for a moment. "We've still got time though, haven't we?"

"For what?"

"Breakfast," Harry said. He pulled Draco to him. "Breakfast and a shower." He kissed Draco on the chin and slid his hands down Draco's body, down under the covers.

"Shower first, I think," said Draco, as his hands moved round to Harry's back. Harry just hummed in answer as his mouth sought out the warm pulse at Draco's neck while his hands began their own, answering investigations below the sheets.

As it turned out, although they showered before breakfast, it wasn't what came first at all.

oOo

Blossom fluttered down from the trees, soft white petals carried by mild April breezes. Draco's long fingers snagged a petal from Harry's hair, still slightly damp from their shower, and he smiled.

"Fashionably late, I see," said Andromeda, walking towards them through the trees. Harry blushed and she laughed. "Don't worry, we've only just got started." She kissed them both lightly on the cheek. They followed her until they got to a clearing, where the blossom was falling on the people, blankets and chairs gathered below; Teddy, tottering from one loved one to another, seemed to dance in the white flurries. He laughed and smiled when he saw Harry and Draco arrive.

Draco left Harry's side to pick up his cousin and swing him high into the air. Teddy giggled and squealed with joy.

"When did he start walking?" asked Harry, strangely bereft for a moment at having missed another of these huge moments of change in his godson's life.

"Only yesterday," said Andromeda. "Just in time for his birthday."

They stood and watched as Draco put Teddy down and followed him as he headed towards Ron and Hermione, falling every few steps onto his well-padded behind. Hermione was wonderful with Teddy: she spoke to him with complete seriousness, as if he were a miniature adult, and he loved it. "He's as much a person as any of the rest of us, Harry, no matter his age," she'd said when Harry had asked her once why she did it. Harry thought back to his own childhood, and not for the first time wished that he'd had a Hermione to stand up for him and his right to be a person, even back then.

He could just make out her voice now, asking calmly where Teddy would like to go next, Teddy reaching out for her hand as his legs wobbled. Next to Harry, Andromeda sighed.

"Nymphadora would have been so proud," she said. Harry nodded and rested his hand on her arm for a second. She looked up at him, eyes bright.

"But look at all the family he does have," he said. They looked around at the strange assortment of people gathered to celebrate his birthday. Andromeda smiled, her face somewhere between contentment and the constant sadness which lurked below the surface.

"I never thought I'd see Cissy again," she whispered. Harry looked over to Draco, who was now sitting talking quietly with his mother. Narcissa, though still poised, had a newly acquired air of fragility about her. It made her seem smaller, but more human. When Draco saw Harry looking, he smiled, a small and private upturn of the mouth, then turned back to his mother.

"And you appear to have brought your own misfits with you," she said. Harry looked back over to Ron and Hermione, who were still happily entertaining Teddy, having made their way over to where Molly was ensconced on a flowery armchair, sipping a cup of tea.

"Her son transfigured it for her," Andromeda said in answered to Harry's silent question. Harry didn't say anything, still drinking in the sight of the people he cared about all in one place. It was such an unlikely group of people, but somehow... somehow it worked.

"This is my family too, now, Dromeda," Harry said turning to face her and she nodded and gave him a warm smile.

"I know, dear, I know. And I'm glad," she said. "Not just for me and Teddy, but for you too. You deserved a bit of happiness, and... it does me good, to see you and my nephew so happy." She paused, and seemed to shake off the sentimental moment. "Right, now I've got to go to talk to Molly about the monstrosity of a birthday cake she made. I've already had Kreacher trying to work out how to put a candle in it and the cake he made too."

The tentative friendship between Andromeda and Molly had been a surprise to everyone, not least themselves; there was something, Harry thought, decidedly unnerving about the two women together. But it helped Harry feel whole, having his two mother-figures together. His years at Hogwarts had been marked by father figures, but now he was enjoying the warmth and comfort of having Molly and Andromeda looking out for him.

Their friendship seemed warm enough, if a little barbed at times, but Harry knew that they talked quietly about their lost children, as well as fussing over Teddy. He doubted that they talked much about Bellatrix, although he didn't know, not really. His eyes sought Draco out again. Sometimes friends could be found in the unlikeliest of places, and sometimes the person who understood the best wasn't the who you thought it would be.

"You're miles away, aren't you, mate?" said Ron, and Harry turned to talk to him. Ron had eventually lost that hint of an Aussie twang, but somehow Harry still heard it when he called him 'mate'.

"Sorry," he said. Ron shook his head.

"It's fine." Ron sighed. He gestured at some nearby chairs, wobbling slightly on the uneven ground, and they sat down. He looked over at Hermione and Molly. "It's great to see Mum so happy when we stay, but y'know, I do miss our room at Grimmauld Place." Harry nodded: he knew what he meant. Sometimes he would stay at school at the weekend, while Draco went to stay with his mother – who was now living here, with her sister – partly to give Ron and Hermione a bit of space. Somehow the old Black house now felt like home, more than Hogwarts, but no matter how much they liked each other, sometimes they just needed some time to enjoy being in a couple. Harry smiled to himself as his mind wandered to the night before. And the shower that morning.

"For some reason Mum seems to think that we all sleep in four separate rooms at Grimmauld Place. She certainly won't let me and Hermione share when we're at the Burrow!"

Harry grinned. He thought Molly probably knew the truth, but found her version of their living arrangements more acceptable. It certainly was an... experience, the four of them sharing the house. It was only at weekends and for part of the holidays, and although it was wonderful for Harry having his best friends and Draco all under one roof, it had taken them all a bit longer to adjust.

"Yes, well let's just consider it lucky that it was Draco and not your mum who stepped through the Floo that time," said Harry, unable to resist sneaking a glance over at his friend to watch him squirm. Draco still wouldn't say what he'd seen, but Hermione's fierce blush every time she saw him for the next month was information enough.

Ron muttered something about glass houses and stones, and stared pointedly at Harry, who blushed too. They had all learned to be careful about the public spaces of the house, and to make good use of silencing charms.

"It's strange, isn't it?" said Harry, deciding to spare them both any further embarrassment. "We're still at school but if there hadn't been the war, we'd be finished by now. At weekends we're adults, but the rest of the time..." He shrugged.

"Yeah, we'd be well into our Auror training by now," said Ron. He sounded wistful, and Harry felt a twist of guilt. He took a deep breath: this conversation was long overdue.

"About that," he said, and Ron turned to face him. "I– I'm not sure if I'm going to do it," he said. To his surprise, Ron just sighed.

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," he said. He stopped when he saw the look on Harry's face. "What? I'm not blind, you know. Every time anyone mentions the Aurors, you change the topic of conversation or find someone else to talk to. It's been obvious for a while that your heart's not in it."

"Oh," said Harry. "Really?" Ron nodded. Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I couldn't really admit it to myself, but I've been feeling this way for a while now. I just didn't want to rush into anything."

"So what are you going to do? You know that Hermione is going to ask." They both looked over at her.

"I don't know. I might try out for a Quidditch team. Or—" He stopped, uncertain about continuing. Harry scuffed up the ground with his shoe.

"Go on," said Ron.

"Well, this might sound mad, but I'd really like to know more about baking."

Ron blinked. "Baking?" he said. "Ok, that I wasn't expecting."

Harry shrugged. "You know I sometimes help Kreacher make the bread, right? Well, it relaxes me, and I enjoy doing it." Ron looked at him steadily, as if trying to determine the truth of his words. And then he laughed.

"From Saviour of the world to baker? Only you, Harry." Harry smiled a little sheepishly.

"To be honest, Ron, I still don't really know what I want to do, what I want to be. But for now I've got everything I need: friends, family, and love. I think I'd just like a little more time to_ be_, before having to map out my whole future."

"I understand," said Ron in a quiet voice. "I know what I want, and it's got nothing to do with being an Auror." Harry knew without looking that Ron was looking over at Hermione again: the warmth in his voice was unmistakable. "In fact, I've been meaning to tell you... I'm not sure if I'm going to join the Aurors, either."

This did surprise Harry. He looked at Ron, wondering how much he really knew his friend. "But it's all you talked about, for years!" said Harry.

"I know. But everything we did last year... it took the shine off it all a little, you know?"

"I do," said Harry gently.

"I've been thinking that I might help George out in the shop. Or maybe I will be an Auror. I don't know," Ron sighed. "She's going to change the world though," he added, his eyes never having left Hermione.

"One house elf at a time," said Harry, and they both laughed. They were quiet for a moment, Harry remembering Dobby, until Draco came over to join them, sitting as close as was possible to him. Harry leant into the hard heat of Draco's body, finding comfort in the contact.

"I would ask what you two were laughing about, but I'm not sure I'd want to hear the answer," he said.

"Oh, nothing bad," said Harry, rubbing Draco's knee gently in reassurance. He left his hand there, and Draco covered it with his own, giving Harry a quick squeeze before pulling away. Harry wanted to grab his hand back, but he knew that Draco wouldn't sit there holding his hands if his mother was around. It wasn't that she disapproved or was unhappy about their relationship; it was more some Malfoy hang-up about seemly behaviour. Harry had long since given up trying to understand how it all worked.

"My mother," Draco said, "is convinced that Teddy is some kind of a genius. She keeps comparing him unfavourably with me at the same age." Harry snorted as he tried to contain his laughter. Draco had found it difficult, being ousted by a baby in his mother's affections. Not that Narcissa loved him any less: it was just that a happy baby to coo over did much to take her mind off a husband in Azkaban and a home lost. "Don't laugh!" Draco sniffed. "Apparently, I didn't walk until well after my first birthday. And of course, I couldn't change my hair colour at will."

"Can you imagine how vain you would be if you could?" said Ron, and Draco glared at him.

Harry pushed his leg against Draco's and felt an answering pressure. Draco relaxed slightly, and Harry felt warmth travel through his body as a wave of ease. Looking at Teddy, he was struck by just how much had changed. And not just for Teddy.

"One year old already, it's hard to believe, really," he murmured.

Ron looked up, and Harry knew he was thinking the same thing. "I know. It's been almost a year since..." _Fred died. Voldemort died. Our lives changed forever. _There were so many ways to end the sentence, and each one played out, unsaid but not unacknowledged, in the silence which followed.

After a while, Ron cleared his throat, and changed the subject. "I hope you haven't touched the chess board since you got home," he said, poking Draco in the side. Draco looked affronted.

"As if I would ruin the opportunity to thrash you thoroughly!"

"I've memorised every piece and their position from last weekend," said Ron, his warning somewhat tempered by the grin on his face.

"Ha! As if that's going to do you any good," said Draco, and soon the two of them were dissecting their current chess game, and making grand threats for the future. Harry listened with fondness; this was a familiar topic of conversation at number twelve, with the two pretty evenly matched. The record currently stood at 31-30 games to Ron. Or maybe to Draco; the only people who really kept a tally were Ron and Draco themselves. Harry and Hermione just tiptoed round the edges of their games, which could last half an hour or for a whole weekend. Sometimes more, as the last one had.

After a while, Harry pulled out the gift sitting in his pocket, bringing it back to its normal size with a light touch of his wand. Harry traced the tiny snitches quivering on the paper with his finger, lost in thought, until Draco nudged him. This time it was Draco who excused them, and guided Harry, with a warm hand placed firmly on his back, towards Teddy, Andromeda and Narcissa.

"Harry," Narcissa said, nodding slightly.

"Narcissa," Harry returned the nod. "It's good to see you again." Sitting with a shawl wrapped tightly round her shoulder, it was clear that she was not the woman she had been. Harry never knew quite how to feel when he saw her; she was a little broken, really, as a person, which was heartbreaking when he saw the pain in Draco's eyes at her new-found meekness, but which made her seem softer and more approachable in a way which Harry never would have thought possible. He handed the present to Teddy, and Andromeda helped her grandson pull the paper off. When she saw what it was, her eyes widened and grew shiny.

"We found it in one of the upstairs rooms," said Draco. "It was mixed in with some of your cousins' books." His voice was soft as he spoke to Andromeda, who sat next to Narcissa to show her the book she'd unwrapped. Narcissa let out a small "Oh!" in surprise. Andromeda opened the cover, and Narcissa traced the inscription inside.

_To my darling daughters, Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix._

_Wishing you many sweet dreams, love Mother._

Harry pulled Teddy onto his lap, sniffing his hair with its babyish scent of shampoo and the suggestion of hugs, while Andromeda and Narcissa sat close to one another and turned the heavy pages, showing him the illustrations of wizarding fairy tales. Their faces were lit with memories and occasionally a glimpse of the girls they had been would appear; a startling sight on their worn faces.

oOo

Later, full of cake - both the exquisitely iced white and blue from Kreacher, and the more homely chocolate one from Molly - Harry and Draco returned home. The urgency of the day before had been replaced with a gentle lassitude. Kreacher was staying another night with Andromeda, and the house was quiet.

"I told Ron that I didn't want to be an Auror," said Harry. "He wasn't surprised at all, the bastard." Draco chuckled.

"I know you've been worrying about this, Harry, but it's been obvious that your feelings had changed."

"I know," sighed Harry. "But we spent so many years talking about it. It just feels like–" he paused, and rubbed his eyes. "Like that part of my life is over, now, I suppose."

"And is that really a bad thing?" asked Draco. "Considering that you had a mad man after you at the time?"

"It wasn't all bad," said Harry. "I had friends, for the first time. And magic." He was quiet for a moment, remembering the wonderful feeling of finally belonging. "But things are good now," he added softly, and kissed Draco on the top of his head. They were sitting in the drawing room, curled up together on the settee, Draco's head resting against Harry.

"They are, aren't they?" said Draco, and Harry hugged him closer.

"Yes, except... I know that going back to Hogwarts hasn't been the easiest thing, for you," said Harry. Draco hated him talking about the problems he'd had, but Harry couldn't just ignore them either. Draco sighed, and Harry felt him pull away slightly. Harry just held onto Draco more tightly, until he relaxed a fraction.

"Harry," he warned. "Do we have to?"

"I'm not going to get angry," said Harry, _not today, anyway._ "I just—" he struggled to find the right words, the ones which would show Draco that he understood, that he cared, without pushing him away. "I know how brave you've been, going back, Marked. I know that I've had it easy, in comparison. But I'm proud to be with you, really I am. I can't think of anyone else who has tried so hard to change their life—"

Draco cut Harry off by kissing him.

"Please, Harry. It's fine. Maybe at the beginning, it was difficult, but now? Now it's fine. Having Harry Potter as my boyfriend helps, much as I'm loath to admit it."

Harry and Draco were fairly circumspect at school, but at the same time open about the fact that they lived together and were in a relationship with each other. It had been a lot for some people to understand, but their closest friends had been willing, in the end, to accept their being together. Harry tried not to think what the year would have been like if he'd not been part of Draco's life; he'd seen the scars on Draco's back from when he'd been hexed during the Hogwarts rebuild. He hated to admit it, but Draco had been right: there were some people who would always hate him for his name, and for what he had done.

Harry touched his lips to Draco's again, seeking out a kiss of reassurance. He just needed to feel him, to know that he was here, that he was ok. Whatever the future held for them, he hoped that they would face it together.

Draco understood, and they kissed long and hard, until without a word they rose, and hand in hand, made their way upstairs.


End file.
